


Please Be Happy

by ishipitsobad



Series: Always and Only [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha Michael, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe-Fantasy, Beta Sam Winchester, F/F, F/M, Family Feud - Freeform, M/M, Mpreg, Okay not that slow, Omega Castiel, Protective Dean, Slow Build, Unrequited Love, childhood crush, smut later, transgender Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 83,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipitsobad/pseuds/ishipitsobad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is the youngest Prince of the Novak bloodline, an Omega, a prize to be won.</p><p>His oldest brother Michael, the King of Eden, holds a competition with Castiel’s hand in marriage as the prize, intending for some influential noble to win and bring powerful alliances to the kingdom.</p><p>So imagine Michael's horror when Dean Winchester, the notoriously unruly Alpha of the Borderlands shows up, and has every intention of undermining his plans and winning the competition.</p><p>But Dean has nothing but noble intentions where Castiel is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel: Eight Years Earlier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... my first time attempting a fic outside of the SnK fandom. I've shipped this HARD for quite a while, but never really found a solid plot line I felt comfortable writing. I ADORE Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics with mpreg thrown in, and I am absolutely in love with the idea of Alpha! Dean and Omega! Castiel together. Particularly protective! Dean because WHY NOT.
> 
> The tags are warnings: if you don't like mpreg, I'm sorry but this won't be your cup of tea. Otherwise, feel free to critique (please be nice, I'm so out of my depth here)! I'll upload sporadically: sometimes twice in one day, sometimes not at all for weeks. So stay tuned!

_“Hey!”_

_Castiel froze, dropping the stolen apple. It bore the mark of a bite, its pale yellow flesh still juicy and sweet on Castiel’s tongue and plainly visible as an ugly crevasse on the otherwise smooth, scarlet skin of the fruit._ _He tried to shrink into the shrubbery, but alas, a ten year old in off-white robes in the dark forest would be noticeable to the naked eye a mile away. Least of all, the eyes of a Lycan._

_He shivered; he wasn't cold-- far from it, in fact. He was sweating heavily under his robes, and he badly wanted to strip them off. They were stifling, oppressive things, and he once upon a time would protest against wearing them. For his efforts, he received punishments in the form of no dinner or some such similar treatment that left him miserable and resentful. The servants would practically manhandle him into the robes, under the cold and watchful eye of his mother. When his mother had passed on, Michael hired a frigid governess who could have passed for his mother to take her place. She was worse than his mother, actually; she struck him when he protested against her instructions, and threatened his silence with the promise of more than a simple slap. So when his brothers questioned his bruises, his cut lip, he lied about being clumsy. They scoffed and scolded, but Castiel had long since grown resistant and immune to the icy group of people that passed itself off as Castiel's family._

_Not family, Castiel gritted his teeth and shook his head violently as if he could physically dislodge the thought._ Never  _family._

_Family didn't use your secondary gender as a bargaining chip, a means to advance their military and social standing. They didn't plan to preserve your virginity and sell it to the highest bidder._

_Castiel was so caught up in the bitter reminiscing that he forgot where he was, and what situation he was in._

_So when he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps nearing, the crunch of leaves and undergrowth growing louder with every passing heartbeat, he couldn't help but whimper._

_The sound stopped, and an unruly mop of tufty sandy-brown hair appeared through the shrubbery. It was followed by the rest of a young boy who was maybe a little older than Castiel himself, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of Castiel huddled in the bushes. Unlike Castiel, who wore beautifully embroidered robes made from imported fabrics, this boy was wearing a simple T-shirt and pants. He had a leather jacket that was maybe two sizes too big for him, and faded freckles were scattered across his nose bridge like sand._

_And his eyes... Castiel marvelled in some inconspicuous part at the back of his mind. As a Prince, Castiel had met more people than he cared to, and he had never seen eyes like this boy's. He'd seen eyes that were simple brown, blue, grey and even gold, but never eyes so beautifully green. They looked like the emeralds Michael had in his crown, or the newest leaves of spring. Castiel preferred the latter: anything associated with Michael was too cold and too bitter to think about._

_This boy's eyes were a rich green like the moss Castiel's bum was currently squashing, warm and curious and bright._

_"Who are you?" C_ _astiel found his voice first, and it was laden with accusation and mistrust._

_The boy opened his mouth to reply, thick brows a shade darker than his hair drawing together in a frown. "I'm--"_

_"Son!" a much deeper, authoritative voice rang out, and Castiel instinctively shrank back. "You find anything over there?"_

_The boy hesitated. Castiel stared back at him defiantly, as if daring him to do his worst. A thick, uncomfortable moment of silence passed. "No."_

_Castiel gaped at him._

_"There's nothing on this side!" the boy called over his shoulder, keeping one eye on Castiel._

_They stared each other down, one waiting for the other to make a move._

_"What are you doing here?" the boy's voice was hushed, and Castiel thought his voice sounded a lot like Gabriel's had when he was going through the Shift. Uneven, breaking on certain words, sounding like he was having a cold on others. "This is private property."_

_Castiel scowled, but didn't reply._

_"Look, you don't want to talk, I get it," the boy whispered. "But you gotta get out of here, okay? My dad's men will be circling back around, and you wouldn't want to meet them when they're in work mode."_

_He looked genuinely concerned, and Castiel wanted to cry. No one had ever looked at him like that. No one. Not even his own mother._

_"Come on," the boy extended his hand. It was calloused and there was a tiny scar running along the bottom of his thumb. It was nothing like Castiel's hands, which were pampered and still as soft as the day he'd been born. It reminded him, however, of his older brothers Michael's and Lucifer's and Raphael's hands. They were the hands of a warrior. But this boy was barely older than Castiel himself, what battles could he possibly have seen? "Let's get you out of here."_

_"How do I know I can trust you?" Castiel shirked away from his outstretched hand._

_The boy startled, like he hadn't considered the possibility of himself coming across as untrustworthy. His forehead wrinkled, a tiny dent forming between his two eyebrows, and his lower lip jutted out in an uncharacteristically adorable pout that made Castiel stifle a giggle._

_He exhaled suddenly, and nodded as if deciding something of great importance. He reached up and pulled off a necklace: the pendant was a burnished gold, crafted in the shape of a head of a humanoid being with horns and clearly of tribal origins. It hung form a black leather cord._

_"My brother gave it to me," the boy smiled fondly, as if remembering something sweet. Castiel yearned to be able to have that kind of smile, that kind of memory to be happy about. All he had was cold, and brutal and unloving. Nothing to smile about. "I've never taken it off before now but... here."_

_He held it out towards Castiel. Castiel, who had more jewellery and gold than he cared for._

_"You said you wanted a symbol of trust, right?" the boy scowled when Castiel made no move to take it. "This is my most prized possession."_

_Castiel shakily reached out for it: it was still warm from the body heat it had absorbed from the boy, and it was a solid weight in his palm. He had seen finer crafts, more delicate sculptures, but somehow, he had never seen anything more beautiful or more meaningful._

_"Okay," Castiel whispered, looking up at the boy with eyes like the palace garden lawn in spring. He took the boy's hand. "Okay."_

_The boy smiled at him, a brilliant, toothy grin that lit up his face. And Castiel knew right there and then, with the necklace resting between his breasts, a reassuring proof, that he was in love with this boy whose name he didn't know._


	2. Lonely But Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is now nearing his 18th birthday, which means his first real heat. That also means Michael has preparations underway for finding Castiel's betrothed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and encouragement and love! In honour of it, I post this second chapter and hope it's not too fast-paced or too wonky or anything bad! Enjoy!

It's hardly the first time this is happening, but it's also hardly the first time Castiel has to choke back the urge to scream and cry and just generally struggle against not only the leather restraints pinning his body to the examination table, but also the restraints of society and propriety.

The old beta physician, whose name Castiel really could not give two hoots about, was either oblivious or immune to Castiel's barely-suppressed inner turmoil. He continued to probe Castiel's most private regions with his uncomfortably cold tools, while the youngest Prince's legs were propped up on either side of his head and held in place by leather stirrups. The tools would probe deeper and deeper, the physician sniffing every now and then, and Castiel's back would arch into a C-shape off the examination table when the head of the tool was purposely pressed into a particular spongy area of flesh high up inside Castiel. His breath would freeze in his lungs, and he would gasp as it was prodded repeatedly, sparks of wanton pleasure racing up his spine and pushing his senses nearer to the edge. The old physician would sniff his reaction, then nod as if in confirmation of something.

  "Well?"

Castiel had almost forgotten Michael was there; he'd been so wrapped up in his self-recrimination and embarrassment and shame. His oldest brother was the king of the vast sprawl of prosperous lands that constituted Eden, a kingdom that had grown westwards in conquest since his coronation. The advisory council was pleased with his manoeuvres, but as far as Castiel was concerned, Michael was a tyrannical and dictatorial conqueror who placed power and wealth over family and friends.

Well, not that Michael had much of the latter, but still.

  "His body has fully matured," the physician withdrew the tools, much to Castiel's relief. "He'll have his first heat within the week. At the very least, in five days, I'd wager."

  "Perfect timing," Michael murmured.

 _Indeed_ , Castiel thought cynically. The timing couldn't suit Michael's plans more. He was to turn eighteen in two days, the age of availability: Michael had already organised the ceremony, a stiff-backed one with very little pomp and too many noble Alphas in attendance. Said Alphas would then compete in a tournament for the three days after Castiel's coming-of-age ceremony for his hand in marriage. Participants were predominantly wealthy nobles who had been personally invited by Michael himself, who sought a powerful alliance through Castiel's marriage.

Let it never be said that Michael was not a king who thought about the welfare of the kingdom and how to better it. Let it, however, be said that Michael _only_ thought about the welfare of the kingdom and how to better it.

Even his wife, formerly Princess Rachel of the Eastern Highlands and Duchess of Canaan, was married out of political advantage rather than love. Love was a foreign ideal to Michael, and he had been bitterly disappointed in Lucifer when he had married in the name of it. Castiel liked Lilith, Lucifer's bride, well enough. She was a common-born Omega who would, if not for Lucifer, have married the Alpha blacksmith of her village simply because he was the only Alpha in the vicinity and they were childhood friends. Then Lucifer's horse collapsed two miles away from the inn that she kept with her parents, and that was that.

But Castiel was not like Lilith nor Lucifer, who could choose love over politics. Because Castiel was not only a Prince, but the first Omega Prince in the Novak line in two thousand years.

That meant his guardian would oversee his betrothal, handpick his betrothed, and everything else in-between. Unfortunately for him, that guardian was Michael.

  "Will he be fertile for his first heat?" Michael demanded.

  "I expect so," the physician kept away his tools neatly, cleaning them before tucking them into a leather bag Castiel wanted to throw out the window. "Most first heats result in conception, my Lord. His Highness is unlikely to be different, seeing as he is healthy and well-matured in body."

They were talking about him like he wasn't even there. Resentment, not an unfamiliar feeling, rose in Castiel's chest and he wanted to spit in both their faces. He was not some broodmare to be sold to the highest bidder, nor some pretty prize to be won by the strongest victor. He was still a person, an independent, continent and sentient individual, thank you very  _much_.

  "Take him back to his rooms," Michael waved at a maidservant dismissively, not even sparing his youngest brother a glance.

The maidservant wordlessly undid Castiel's restraints, and helped him into his robes. The first thing Castiel did when he donned his garments was to reach into his pocket, and when he felt the warm, solid weight nestled inside, he breathed easily.

He couldn't wear it around in plain view, because that would most certainly being unwanted attention to it. People believed that a prince like him should be wearing fine jewels and elaborately crafted finery, not some dull, tribal thing that had probably cost little more than ten coppers.

So he tucked it away inside his inner gown, and when the time came for him to strip like for the examination he'd just had, he kept it in his pockets. Castiel had inherited his own share of wealth, though it was diminutive in comparison to his older brothers' portions. Portions they had expanded upon in recent years with conquest and trade Castiel was bound by law of society from participating in. Nevertheless, he would bring a sizable dowry into whatever marriage claimed him, which only added to his own selling points.

He was escorted back to his chambers; since he'd presented as an Omega, he had not been allowed to go anywhere without an escort in the form of a servant or even a soldier. His one-time rebellion that had led to that fateful meeting with the green-eyed boy had resulted in heavier security and stricter supervision.

Fortunately, by the time his Shift had finished, he'd gained enough muscle mass to physically overpower his governess, and had her literally thrown out of his rooms. When Michael demanded an explanation, he didn't give one. All he said was that if Michael reinstated her or gave the position to another at all, he would break their necks. Castiel didn't actually have the stomach for such things, but in that moment he'd been angry and spiteful and resentful enough to say as much with fire in his eyes concealing the truth of his weak stomach. Michael had relented, and Castiel was granted that infinitesimal freedom to do as he wished within the confines of his own rooms.

So he sought the pleasure of reading whatever books was allowed him, and found further freedom in the tales of the world beyond his tiny turret window, whisked away across oceans and lands where the rigors of society and propriety were but a fragment of one's overactive imagination.

It was just a pity that it was the reverse that was true.

Once he'd sent the servants away, and the door was shut behind them, he stripped without further adue. His hatred of the fitted, draping silk robes with their carefully wrought stitches had not lessened since his adolescence, much to the irritation of the seamstresses and tailors and any unfortunate soul who had the misfortune of being the one to pick up after him. Now stark naked save for the pendant resting against his breastbone, he perused his poorly-stocked shelves.

He'd read the books so many times, that they were all similarly dog-eared and creased at the spine. He stared at his meagre collection, which was dwarfed by the size Gabriel's collection of erotic fiction. He'd made the mistake of picking one of Gabriel's books up, misguided into thinking that his older brother would have something substantive to read. He read the first five pages, and quickly put it back, face flaming.

Then all of a sudden, the emotions he'd been holding at bay with nearly superhuman self control came bubbling to the surface like an active volcano. It spilled over and Castiel fell to his knees, shoulders shaking as sobs wracked his chest.

How much longer would he have to endure this humiliation? This never ending sting of shame?

He adamantly refused to shed any tears. His brother's reprimand, however hateful, had caged his psyche, and at the grand age of almost-eighteen, he could safely say that he had not shed a tear in eight years.

To combat the rising urge to cry, he changed to his Lycan form: the transformation was awkward a little painful, bones grinding uncomfortably as they gave way to each other, skin unfurling to reveal the thick black fur of his wolf. It was small, much smaller than any of his older brothers' wolves, a feature predominantly attributable to his secondary gender.

It took all he had to resist throwing his head back and howling. It was improper, Michael had scolded, to howl except in victory of battle.

Castiel had long since forgotten what his own howl sounded like. He padded over to his bed, and curled up wearily on his bed, letting sleep take him.

Better sleep than an Alpha.

* * *

 

  "You're not serious."

  "Damn straight I am," Dean muttered, lacing up his boots.

The ivory card with gold accents and carefully scripted black words was lying on the bench next to him, slightly tattered and frayed at the edges from being thumbed over too much. It read:

_You are hereby invited to the coming-of-age ceremony of His Highness Prince Castiel James Novak of Eden, and to participate and compete in the Tournament for his hand in marriage. The ceremony will be held at the Eden Palace Chapel on Thursday, 20th of April. The Tournament will last for 3 days after the ceremony, at the Palace Arena, and the victor shall emerge on the 3rd day to claim His Highness' hand in marriage without challenge._

 "You could get yourself killed," Sam growled, already wearing his bitch-face in severe disapproval.

  "I'm going to die someday anyway," Dean sat up straight, sounding a little too carefree for Sam's taste. "Might as well die for something I consider worth dying for."

  "Really?" Sam squinted at him, trying to suss out how serious he was. Considering that this was Dean, his older brother and that he'd known him for almost 20 years, he had very good reason to be skeptical. "You're willing to die for some Omega you met eight years ago and who probably doesn't remember you at all?"

  "He will," Dean picked up the card and flipped it over, his expression growing tender and gentle as he gazed down on the picture painted on its back. "He'll remember me."

The painting depicted a slender, lithe young man who was lightly muscled and had a very faint cleft in his chin. His nose was straight, unlike Dean's, which had been broken in one too many bar fights and carelessly set after. His lips had a Cupid's bow, and were the exact same shade as the pink roses his mother used to cultivate, untainted by rouge and touch. His hair stuck every which way, and Dean grinned as he thought about how frustrated the people who groomed him must have been, trying to tame his dark locks, but Dean found it ridiculously adorable in contrast to his somber expression.

And then there was his eyes.

Dean had met plenty of people with blue eyes, and slept with half of them. But none of them had  _ever_ had eyes so brilliantly blue. They reminded him of the lake he used to visit as a child with his parents, before Sam was born. The memories were foggy as any child's would be, but he remembered with perfect clarity just how vividly _blue_ it had been. Like a darker shade of tourmaline blue, and just as hard.

They were harder than Dean recalled, from their accidental and short meeting when Dean was still sixteen and just days away from presenting. Riddled with unshed tears and mistrust and unhappiness, Castiel Novak was hardly ten years old then, yet his eyes were already fast on their way to what Dean saw now in his portrait.

He wondered what it would take to make those lovely eyes soften, and fervently prayed, hoped and wished to whatever higher power was listening, that it was within his capabilities.

With a clap on the back to his scowling younger brother, who shook his head and muttered about arranging his funeral and picking his casket, he left for Eden.

 


	3. Save Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's eighteenth birthday is upon him, and Dean arrives in Eden with very little skip in his walk and a lot of cursing in his talk.

Castiel utterly  _despised_ this.

The heavy white robes that consisted of six too many layers, the delicate gold circlet crafted in the shape of a flower crown resting upon his brow, the stiff and formal ceremony.

Michael was to receive him at the end of the aisle, and then grant him his "independence" as an adult. Of course, it was all a sham: if Castiel was truly an independent individual, he should damn well ought to be able to pick his own husband, right?

Of course, Michael was impervious (or blind, Castiel liked to think) to such notions. It went right over his head. He was king, and to Michael, that meant his word was law.

The only thing stopping him from making a run for it was the armed guards stationed every five feet on either side of the aisle. Who stations armed guards at a coming-of-age ceremony? Michael.

 _Damn Michael_ , Castiel thought as viciously as he could.  _Damn him to Hell._

And all the while, Castiel's expression remained utterly blank as he walked down the aisle, gown fanning out behind him for six feet exactly and not an inch more, nobles from kingdoms all over the land watching him with varying expressions.

He didn't have to be a Lycan to sniff out the greed, the lust, the envy, the disdain that was thick as a woollen blanket in the air. He could have choked on it if it was any more tangible, but the fact that it wasn't only made it worse. It meant having to put up with it while he walked the quarter of a mile down towards Michael, where he reclined in his stupid throne with a stupid serene expression on his stupid face that Castiel wanted to punch off.

But of course he wouldn't, because he was a Prince. And Princes didn't go around punching people, particularly not their older brothers who happened to be kings.

The walk was more painfully awkward than Castiel had anticipated, than Gabriel had warned. Of all his brothers, Gabriel was the most daring to defy Michael and his whims, blatantly disliking him and disobeying his edicts. If Gabriel had not been his brother by blood and by name, Michael would have had him executed  _years_ ago. The insufferable jester had been caught red-handed in more orgies than Castiel had fingers, and those were only the ones when he was _caught_.

Gabriel made it no secret that he thought Michael was stuffy, full-of-himself, arrogant prick.

That made him Castiel's favourite brother.

Of course, Gabriel was powerless in aiding Castiel's evasion from his fate, but he had tried to provide the youngest of the Novak family with some advice. He gave Castiel a lovely dagger with a pearl handle and the words " _Beranusaji Elasa_ " carved into the blade.

It was Enochian, their lineage language. It read: s _ave yourself._

Castiel had no doubt what Gabriel meant by that, and he kept it hidden under the folds of his robes, waiting for the right time to use it.

Meanwhile, he had to suppress the urge of using it on Michael.

* * *

 

Dean did not like Eden.

He'd hated it eight years ago, still hated it now, and would probably continue to hate it for the rest of his life.

His sire had brought him here once when he was sixteen, to show him the ropes of the job he would inherit when he came of age. They were hired mercenaries, willing to work if the job was morally right and it paid well.

The Winchester pack  _never_ dealt with anything the Alpha did not approve of, and where John Winchester was concerned, 'morals' was practically his spine. That made him a hard-ass of a father, and one heck of a leader. The pack trusted him irrevocably, and with their lives. Under his governance, Lawrence was a well-to-do, albeit small county.

Then Mary Winchester died, and John's grief was immeasurable. He would have followed his wife into death, if not for the fact that he had two sons to care for in her absence. But his grief meant his guard was down, and Michael knew it all too well, the son of a bitch that he was.

He invaded Lawrence, seizing all the assets it could offer. It had lasted only a day, but it had been a day of terror that etched itself into Dean's mind for years afterwards. Sammy had been too young to remember, just a little over six months old, but Dean had been the one who carried him out of the house as it was lit ablaze by one of Michael's soldiers, both of them crying and terrified. John had grabbed them both and entrusted them to Ellen Harvelle, one of his oldest friends who was with pup, and gave her the strictest orders to run and no matter what,  _don't look back_. As Dean and Sam screamed for him to come with them, he ran back into the fray, fighting off Michael's soldiers and rescuing as many as he could.

They fled to the Borderlands, scraping a living off the rocks and enduring harsh winters. There was only a vast expanse of strange tundra, a landscape they were unfamiliar with, and years of crop failure because the plants were not suited to the soil left the pack starving. Many of them left the Winchester pack to return to Michael's rule over their former home, accepting the rebuke of the elders and the wails of the younger on their backs as they abandoned years of camaraderie for the reassurance of food in their bellies. It took years for them to eke out a living in the hard soil, to not have to worry about whether they would see tomorrow dawn, but eventually they managed. They built their territory from the ground up, toiling the earth, researching hardy perennials, rearing stolen livestock and performing raids on towns when their supplies were insufficient.

John swore revenge, and for years afterwards, he led a groups of Lycans to raid the outermost regions of Michael's kingdom, stealing necessities to sustain the pack. They relieved trade caravans of their goods, tore out the throats of any soldiers they saw, and gained themselves an unsavoury reputation.

When Dean was old and strong enough to hold his own in a sparring match against John himself (although he got the crap beaten out of him), he tagged along on the raids. And that was how he met Castiel, shivering and frightened in an apple orchard on the outskirts of Eden, glaring Dean down.

Looking back, he hadn't realised that the young boy he'd stretched out his hand to was the Prince of Eden, the youngest brother of the man his father had sworn to kill. Maybe if he'd known, he wouldn't have helped. Maybe he wouldn't have spent the next eight years trying to find him in seedy bars and the most unlikely of places. Maybe he wouldn't be back in Eden, on his way to the palace, blithely ignoring the suspicious glares of the townsfolk as they regarded his dusty, scuffed appearance while they themselves were clad in outrageous finery for a ceremony that they would most likely be barred from attending.

He hefted the strap of his rucksack higher up his shoulder, smile growing ever wider in anticipation as he neared the palace's chapel, knowing that every step he took now brought him nearer to the one he'd loved for eight years, and would love for all the years to come.

If only fate would allow it, and Dean prayed like he never had before that it would.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay the ending of this chapter was kind of shitty and it was terribly short... but THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE MORE ON THE CEREMONY AND THE TOURNAMENT AND HINT HINT REUNIONS


	4. Everything To Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets Alphas from all over the land, and hates every single one of them. But the one with beautiful green eyes isn't so bad, he thinks.
> 
> If only he'd quit being so corny.
> 
> Meanwhile, Gabriel is a punk-ass little shit who enjoys pissing Michael off, much to Castiel's delight.

  "...eldest of the Masters family, heir to the Andover kingdom, conqueror of..."

Castiel slouched deeper into his seat, grateful for once that he was mandated to wear a lace veil over his face like some bride. He'd protested to wearing it at first, but now could see the advantages of it: like yawning and dozing without being seen. This was the  _n_ th Alpha that was being presented as a prospective suitor, a participant in the Tournament. A Lycan who only saw Castiel as a broodmare, or even an addition to their Omega harem.

It wasn't uncommon for Alphas to have more than one mate, engaging sometimes in polygamy. Sometimes it was to increase the chances of the line being carried on, other times it was because the Alpha just liked sleeping with a different bed partner every night. Most of the time it was the latter.

It disgusted Castiel, and so did these proceedings. They weren't even halfway through the list of attending noble Alphas, and it was four hours to sundown and Castiel hadn't eaten anything since sunrise. The whalebone corset that was meant to enunciate his "Omega curves" that he'd been essentially forced into wasn't helping either, squishing his already emaciated stomach and encouraging its generous weeping of gastric fluids. He couldn't help the grimace when his stomach actually  _gurgled._

  "Behave yourself!" Michael hissed when there was a lull in the presentation, elbowing Castiel in the ribs. "This is all for you, do you understand?"

Castiel had to bite his tongue.  _You mean, all for_ you _._

The procession continued, Alphas coming forth with lasciviousness or disdain written all over their faces, heralded by their advisors. He thought about ramming his knuckles into each and every one of their smug faces. That would certainly make them prettier, in Castiel's opinion. Because where Michael saw powerful potential allies and wealthy trade partners, Castiel saw cruelty and lust.

  "...Alpha Duke Zachariah Alder, Lord of the Seraph County and the outlying lands."

Michael elbowed him again, looking as excited as a pup on Yule morning. "You must favour him, Castiel. He will bring great power and prosperity to Eden as your spouse."

Castiel dreaded the sight awaited him, and was right to. All he saw was a balding, paunchy man with an awful smirk that suggested all too clearly what kind of  _power_ he would lord over Castiel. He made Castiel's skin crawl; he couldn't and most definitely did not want to imagine having to share a bed with this man.

If Michael expected him to perform the traditional ritual of giving his stupid garter to his favoured champion, for luck and hopefully victory in the Tournament, Castiel was most certainly not going to give it to anyone Michael himself favoured, much less Zachariah Alder. For goodness' sake, the man didn't even look like he'd fought his own battles in over a decade. His beer belly seemed like it would probably get in the way.

He fisted his hand in the folds of his robe, concentrating on the weight of the pendant against his breastbone, the handle of the dagger resting on his thigh. Both were warmed by the heat of his own body, and he knew that as the days passed, the closer he drew to his first heat.

Castiel had experienced "ghost" heats before, once a month or erratically every three to four weeks, and they were unbearable as it was: his body was drowned in the unbearable urge to be  _filled_ with something, an itch he couldn't scratch no matter how shameful he was, how much he  _touched_ himself. When he was thirteen, Gabriel gave him a false penis, crafted out of bronze and had a bulbous knot at its base to emulate an Alpha's dick. It had taken the edge of the worst of it, but Castiel was always left craving something more, something...real. But if that was just a lighter, fainter version of a real heat... Castiel didn't think he could survive one without surrendering his pride and his independence. The very idea of spreading his legs and begging for an Alpha to knot him rankled, and he wanted to projectile vomit all over the procession.

It took a while for Castiel to realise then, surfacing out the depths of his own self-loathing and misery, that all the trumpeting and applauding heralding the Alpha procession had stopped. In its place, the hall had gone eerily hushed, like a graveyard, and people were whispering under their breaths like the chill of a late autumn wind rustling the leaves of cemetery boughs. He wondered what had happened, if they'd noticed his defiant expression or some other such misbehaviour, and sat up slightly.

Then he noticed Michael's icy expression and tense shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the armrests of his throne. Castiel followed his line of sight, and his eyes widened in shock.

Standing in their midst, stance cocky and smile bordering on arrogant, was an Alpha in his mid-twenties. He had a five o-clock shadow, pale bronze hair and cheekbones so chiselled Castiel thought he might cut his hand on it. Castiel could practically hear Gabriel salivating over the way his muscles were visible even under the layers of clothes, which consisted of a beaten leather jacket, scuffed boots all coated in a layer of dust, rather than the well-tailored and pristine robes of the other noble Alphas. Yet he managed to positively  _exude_ Alpha pheromones; you couldn't mistake him for anything else. His eyes were the green of peat moss, and they were as icy as Michael's expression.

Castiel's breathing hitched in his throat, and he felt the uncomfortable, unmistakable and painfully familiar sensation of something wet sliding down between his butt cheeks. It was warm and viscuous, and it felt like a tongue licking a stripe from his asshole down to the seat of his robes. He squirmed in a desperate bid to stem it, his heart kicking into overdrive and hammering against his ribcage as he felt his chest heave in short and panicky breaths. If he could feel  _that_ , then... _  
_

He looked up into viridescent eyes with pupils now so badly dilated that you could hardly see the rim of green around the black, the man's nostrils flaring as he breathed in the scent of Castiel's slick escaping his body, muscles taut in what was most likely an act of restraining himself from tackling Castiel to the ground and taking him like the animal that simmered too closely to his surface. It threatened to break through his forcedly calm demeanour, and Castiel had to applaud his sense of self-control. Goodness knew the other Alphas, for all their noble upbringing, could use some of his. They began to growl in their seats, making as if to stand up and lurch in his direction. Some of them were already pushing past their entourages, giving him leers and erections straining against the fabric of their robes.

  " _Quiet!"_ Michael's shout was like the crack of a whip, echoing sharply in the confines of the large hall.

The Alphas continued to growl, but they lowered their volumes to a level Michael was seemingly tolerant of, but only just barely.

  "What do you want?" Michael returned his attention to the Alpha who had triggered Castiel's... awkward predicament. 

  "I'm--"

  "I know who you are," Michael spoke through gritted teeth, something Castiel hadn't seen him do since he and Lucifer had falling out that lasted for days and that was when they were  _seven_. In fact, Castiel hadn't seen him so ruffled in  _years_. "I asked what you wanted."

The man's lips stretched into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I want to participate in the Tournament."

  "You have nothing to offer my brother," Michael snapped, growing steadily more furious as every second crawled past. Castiel's eyes shuttered close as he tried unsuccessfully to quench the heat that was overwhelming him in its intensity. 

  "Your brother already has everything I could possibly offer," the man smiled, and this time it was aimed at Castiel, and it reached his eyes. His smile warmed them, and Castiel saw the eyes that had kept him sane through lovely dreams for the last eight years. The eyes of the boy who had given him the pendant that he now wore around his neck.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" some Alpha spluttered, indignant and red in the face.

The smile stayed, even as he answered the question, a crooked quirk of the lips that made Castiel want to smile too. "He has my heart."

There was a beat of silence, then more than a handful of the crowd present began to snort and scoff and sneer.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Michael said coldly. "I meant--"

  "He has a necklace that belongs to me."

Michael turns to look at Castiel so fast, he thinks it might just spin right off his neck. He is absolutely livid, even if the straight line that is his mouth has not budged a fraction of an inch. The question was unspoken, and Castiel would have preferred it if he didn't have to answer. The pendant is suddenly a burning weight against his skin, threatening to sear right through his chest.

  "Besides," the man interrupts the brothers' silent interrogation. "I have an invite."

Again, Michael's head moves too fast to be totally natural or comfortable, and this time his expression is one of great incredulity. "How--"

He cuts himself off with a snap of his jaw, the sound of his teeth grinding blatant. Castiel wants to get up and run to his fourth brother and hug him into oblivion. Where Michael was beyond irate, Castiel was delighted.

_Gabriel had sent it._

Bless his mischievous, prankster soul.

* * *

 

Dean Winchester. That was his name.

Alpha of the Western Borderlands, a terrain known for being unforgiving and a land passed off as worthless. No conqueror in his right mind would want the Borderlands, infertile and lacking in wealth of any kind. It was a spread of arid desert, and to be an Alpha of such land would make Dean Winchester either a hardy Lycan or a desperate one. Castiel didn't give a damn, honestly. If living a short life in a land where survival was challenge everyday meant being with Dean, then so be it. It was infinitely preferable compared to any of his other prospects, and most definitely more appealing than being the Omega of someone like Zachariah Alder.

Michael had reluctantly accepted Dean's participation just so he could get the procession moving along again. Once it was over and the Novaks left so the audience could be dismissed, Michael whirled on Gabriel. He would have struck him, too, if propriety allowed it.

So instead, they stared each other down, while Castiel worried his lower lip between his teeth and clenched his fists in the fabric over his ass where a damp spot had formed. When Dean had departed from his presence, the flow of slick from between his butt cheeks had ceased, much to his relief. But the encounter had lasted long enough for the damage to be done. Every Alpha within close proximity, or even nearby to be able to smell Castiel's unintentional arousal, had gone halfway feral. One particular Alpha even had to be escorted out, spitting and snarling and screaming that he was going to "breed" Castiel like the "Omega bitch" that he was. 

As much as Castiel hoped that would make one less Alpha participant in the Tournament, one less competitor hoping to make Castiel his whore, Michael was a stubborn horse-butt who was only interested in getting rid of Dean Winchester and no other.

  “What,” Michael was beginning to articulate every single word. That didn’t bode very well. “do you think you’re doing, Gabriel?”

  “A good thing,” Gabriel drawled, smirking but his hazel eyes flinty. “Something for Castiel, rather than for _you_.”

Castiel smiled, feeling solidarity and brotherly affection warm him.

  “Do you know who Dean Winchester is?” Michael gritted out, incensed.

  “I know he pisses you off,” Gabriel said offhandedly, shrugging. “And since I like pissing you off, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So I invited my friend to my baby brother’s birthday party. Anything wrong with that?”

Michael snarled, and Castiel could see his wolf barely held at bay by the bottomless pit that was Michael’s sense of propriety.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Mikey,” Gabriel’s nickname for Michael only made their older brother angrier, and he smirked. “Whatever benefits you, benefits no one else. If Castiel’s happiness means sacrificing yours, then I’m all for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked their reunion and that it wasn't too off-kilter of anything! Do drop your critique in my inbox!


	5. Let The Shit Hit The Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the stupidity begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I practically finished the chapter yesterday, but then I DIDN'T SAVE IT AND THEN ACCIDENTALLY CLICKED THE BACKPAGE BUTTON AND JUST 
> 
> well.

The gifts started flooding into Castiel’s room the following morning, conveyed into his chambers by overbearingly self-important pageboys, one after another and each one jostling in the hallway outside to enter first. They each looked like their acquisition had cost a small fortune, and by mid-morning, Castiel could safely say that the amassed amount thus far was the equivalent of his inheritance. There were gaudy-colored imported fabrics from lands Castiel had never even heard of, ivory wares that were crafted from the tusks of elephants that had the misfortune of crossing the path of some egotistical Alpha, orris-and-musk perfumes taken years to perfect.

Castiel ripped up a whole bale of vucana silk with the teeth of his wolf, threw a taaffeite demi-parure out his small turret window, and emptied a whole bottle of rare spiced wine that had been barrelled a little over a century ago into his weak morning gruel. The alcohol took a little of the edge off his grumpiness, but it didn’t diffuse it completely. He imagined that nothing would, given his rude awakening by way of extremely unnecessary trumpet fanfare right outside his door to herald the start of the gift presentation, coupled with the pent-up frustration of maybe his whole eighteen years of life, give or take a few.

Each gift had come with a note, but Castiel didn’t bother reading any of them after the first one. It came attached to a solid gold false knot (except this one didn’t have a knot, so was that supposed to be an allusion to Alpha Crowley’s lack of one?), and when Castiel read the short, succinct message neatly written on the vellum parchment, he tossed both the gift and the note into the fireplace.

He had half a mind to just throw everything out the window, but someone passing under it might get killed, or worse, report it to Michael. So they remained haphazardly piled up in one corner, fruitlessly waiting for Castiel to give them some form of attention, or decide how best to lay waste to them. By the time another supercilious pageboy brought in the eighty-seventh gift, a sewing kit in a box made out of silver and comprised of extravagant tools that were meant to be an indication of how Castiel should be a kept Omega and learn embroidery, he stopped keeping count. He had better things to do, like wait for noon and be manhandled into the outfit of the day so Alphas of noble lineage participating in the tournament would see how pretty a prize he was.

He was unwinding spools of Egyptian cotton thread by throwing them all around the room, creating rainbow-coloured spider webs, when a regular maidservant entered with a begrudging expression on her face and a silver platter bearing a simple package. It was wrapped in the standard writing parchment that was made available to all their guests in their rooms, and tied off with a dark red shoelace.

Curiosity piqued by this small package that easily fit into the palm of his hand, Castiel tossed aside the pathetic remnants of a spool of indigo thread and dismissed the highly disgruntled maidservant with an absentminded wave of his hand once he’d retrieved the package. If it had been brought in during the madness that was this morning, he would have missed it entirely, small and inconspicuous as it was. As he untied it, he couldn’t help a little smile as he thought about how the shoelace must have a twin, and that the giver was walking around with only one shoe laced up. The parchment crinkled under his fingers as he unwrapped it, and stiff leather cuff-bracelet fell into Castiel’s palm. It had a silver filigree chain fastened around the length of the bracelet, and an azure-blue drop of some kind of gemstone hung from it. It was translucent, its surface a little foggy, yet the light could illuminate it when he lifted it up in the direction of the window, through which the sunlight spilled into his chambers.

Castiel had been educated on every type of gemstone that existed, for the sole purpose of recognizing quality jewels in a moment such as this so he could write a courteous thank-you note to the giver (not that he had even picked up his quill for any of the gifts that had arrived this morning). He could recognize all kinds of gems, from tanzanite to rose quartz, but he had absolutely no clue what this funny little stone was supposed to be.

He carefully set it aside on his nightstand and sat on the edge of his bed to read what was written on the inside of the parchment. The script was masculine and blockish, a little awkward if the scratched out lines were anything to go by. There were also random splotches that suggested the writer was not very used to writing with a quill and ink. Castiel read the first four words, and already his heart was twisting in his chest:

_Happy Eighteenth Birthday, Castiel!_

It would have been odd to the ordinary person that Castiel was so hung up on such a little phrase, such a common well-wishing. But this was the first and only time _anyone_ had wished him this much since he’d turned eighteen. None of the Alphas (Castiel didn’t need to read their notes to know; Alpha Crowley’s note was a fairly clear indicator of what the other’s would be like), not even his own brothers (Gabriel had only mentioned as much as “birthday party”, but he hadn’t even been talking to Castiel, and his tone had been cynical then), had sincerely wished him a “happy birthday”.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and read on:

_~~How are you~~ _

_~~I missed you~~ _

_How’re you holding up? It’s been rough on you, I suppose. I mean, having to get married so soon must suck. If Sammy (that’s my moose of a little brother) had told me he wanted to get hitched when he turned eighteen, I’d have reamed his ass so hard. ~~But if I was eighteen and you were eighteen, I wouldn’t have minded getting married to you right away~~_

_It was good to see you again. You sure grew up to be gorgeous, and you were already a pretty little thing when we first met eight years ago. I bet your wolf is one heck of a wolf, too. ~~Sometimes I dream about going running with you~~_

_I saw this bracelet while I was at Lake Manitoc on ~~pack business~~ a trip with Sammy, and ~~the color of the sea glass reminded me of you~~ I thought of you. I hope you like it._

_Even if I don’t win this stupid-ass Tournament, or if Michael somehow manages to find a way to off me… I hope you’ll still wear it. ~~And if it’s not too much to ask, that you’ll think of me everytime you look at it~~ But most importantly, I hope you’ll always be happy no matter what. Because that’s really all that matters._

_-Dean Winchester_

Castiel’s teeth snagged his lower lip, which had curved into an irrepressible grin so wide, his cheeks hurt. He couldn’t remember being this happy in _years_. Dean Winchester had made him want to laugh with joy more than he’d ever been had his whole life, a feat considering that they barely knew each other. He thought about Castiel’s happiness when no one else (except Gabriel, but he did it mostly just to piss Michael off) would, to an extent that nobody would bother to even think of it. He wanted Castiel to be happy, with or without him.

He picked up the bracelet and put it on his left wrist, surprised by how well the brown of the leather offset the paleness of his skin. It was loose enough that it didn’t constrict his blood flow, but not enough that it would slip right off his arm. It made his heart flutter to think of the Alpha, buying this bracelet with him in mind and with the hopes of Castiel’s appreciation of it in his heart, and writing this letter and perhaps even having to start over multiple times, discarding scrunched up balls of paper aside and scratching out lines with a frustrated scowl.

He settled back on his bed to re-read the letter, wishing he could immortalize the parchment forever and preserve it through all time. He was halfway through re-reading it for the third time when Michael burst through his doors rather unceremoniously. Castiel’s oldest brother took one look at the state of his rooms, the trashed proposal gifts, and closed his eyes. Probably for patience. After a while, he seemed to have regained his composure and levelled an unreadable look at Castiel. “Come with me, _now_.”

Years of upbringing under Michael’s “my way or the highway” hand made Castiel hop off the bed automatically, and follow his oldest brother out into the hallways. Said hallways were wide enough for three people to walk side by side comfortably through them, yet Castiel remained a solid four feet behind Michael, unperturbed by the silence that hung thickly between them. They never made small talk, so the lack of conversation as they walked was hardly a new development that could surprise Castiel. The direction in which they were headed, however, was a cause of confusion for the younger of the two.

Michael entered the throne room, the heels of his boots striking out a brisk, staccato rhythm against the stone floor before it was muffled by the thick carpeting leading up to his throne. Castiel followed him, utterly bemused until he caught sight of the only other person in the room.

Duke Zachariah Alder sent a short bow Michael’s way, then giave the youngest Novak a poorly-concealed leer. He looked even more despicable than Castiel recalled; the veil he’d been wearing had hidden the worst of his repugnant, smarmy features.

  “What is this about?” Castiel whispered to his brother, a question that, as always, went unnoticed.

  “Duke Alder, I’m sure you’re aware of the reason why I called this…meeting,” his brother gave the balding Alpha a smile that could only be described as conspiratorial. “I’ve made the appropriate arrangements for this afternoon. I’ve gone over the scheduling and lineups of the matches myself, but unfortunately you will still have to fight a minimum of two others before reaching the final match.”

Duke Alder simply raised an eyebrow, and waited for Michael to continue talking.

  “I arranged for you to be competing against the weakest—inexperienced whelps who’ve just barely been weaned off their mother’s milk. They’ve not seen a single battle, and they’ve only just recently finished their Shift. But just to be safe, I’ve ordered the servants to add a light dose of wolfsbane to their drinks before the match. Not enough to kill, because we certainly wouldn’t want to start a feud, but enough to keep them off-balance. Will that be satisfactory?”

Castiel couldn’t believe his ears. His shock was ignored, while the two Alphas seemingly discussed underhanded tactics and essentially, _cheating._

  “It should suffice _,”_ Duke Alder smirked. “But what of Winchester?”

Castiel didn’t dare to breathe, his lungs freezing in mid-inhalation.

  “I’ve given him as many matches as I could line up,” Michael scowled at the very mention of Dean Winchester. “All war veterans, still at the peak of their physical capabilities, and all of them have seen _and_ won at least two battles in their lifetime. I’ve given the same instructions for wolfsbane to be added to his drink, too. I won’t take any chances where Winchester is concerned.”

Neither of them noticed Castiel inhaling sharply, or his expression of utter disbelief. He needed to warn Dean Winchester. He needed to warn Dean Winchester _nownownownownow—_

  “Castiel, you will give Duke Alder your favor later today on the field,” Michael was addressing him, and Castiel couldn’t believe his brother was doing this. “Do you understand me?”

  “No.”

Michael reared back, face reddening as his temper began to burn and Duke Alder hissed at  Castiel’s reply. His consciousness struggled against the chains that Michael had ensnared it in with a lifetime of “do as I say and do naught else” teachings. They weren’t so much teachings as indoctrination, brainwashing. Castiel himself was surprised by his own reply.

He didn’t see Michael’s hand coming up; one moment he was standing, the next he was sprawled all over the floor of the throne room, cheekbone stinging and stunned beyond words. Michael had _never_ hit him. Not when he had run away, not when he had thrown his governess out. Not even when he had threatened to kill anyone who tried to replace his governess. He stared up at Michael, hand going to his cheek reflexively, feeling the ache of bruise already forming there.

  “How dare you disobey me?” Michael was actually _baring his teeth_ at Castiel, and he could hear the faintest of growls reveberating in Michael’s chest. “I won’t have your impertinence ruining everything. I’ve planned this alliance for _years_ , all for your benefit—“

  “For _my_ benefit?” Castiel really didn’t know where the burst of courage came from, but he was trembling with a knee-weakening cocktail of fear and anger. “What Gabriel said was right. This is all just for _your_ benefit. If you were actually even thinking about doing good by me, maybe you’d actually _ask_ me if I was happy about all this—“

Michael struck him again, on the other cheek this time. Castiel’s head snapped to one side, but this time he didn’t fall. It was, however, getting harder to breathe. He had never seen Michael so angry, and it frightened him. He wanted to surrender, if it would just make Michael stop and leave him alone, even if for a little while. His chest was seizing with erratic breaths, and the warmth of reading Dean’s letter and the touch of his bracelet and pendant on Castiel’s body was the only thing that kept him from giving in now.

  “Silence!” Michael roared at him, the single command echoing in the confines of the throne room. “You are a Prince, and you are an Omega. You are my ward by law and by blood. You will _do as I say_ , and you will _do naught else_. Am I clear?”

Castiel didn’t speak, and wasn’t sure he could without letting his emotions overcome him.

Michael grabbed the collar of his robes and shook it. “ _Am I clear?”_

A heartbeat of silence passed, with Duke Alder looking on with an unreadable expression but eyes that clearly said he expected Castiel to do as his big brother told him to. That infuriated Castiel, and that rage chased the fear away. Good.

  “Crystal, big brother,” Castiel whispered.

It wasn’t the whisper of a cowed child, nor the whisper of one who surrenders to a stronger fighter.

It was the whisper of someone who didn’t mean what he said at all. But Michael didn’t know that, nor did he need to, and he released Castiel’s collar with an order to the guards outside to escort him back to his rooms and keep him there until the Tournament started.

* * *

Dean didn’t understand why noble Alphas insisted on wearing armor.

Sure, it was shiny and pretty, but it was also going to slow them down and make swinging at him a lot more troublesome. Given that, Dean really couldn’t complain about their fondness for the cumbersome, useless stuff. So long as it got in their way and not his.

He, on the other hand, liked to keep it simple. Light clothes, maybe a leather jerkin over his torso if necessary, would suffice. The Tournament had no rules, which essentially meant playing dirty was all well and good. He slid daggers into the arm sheaths strapped to both his arms, knowing that he wouldn’t use them unless he absolutely had to. Using weapons was actually a tactic of last resort for Dean; he had a code he stuck by, bred into his bones by his own father, who told him every time they sparred that weapons were for the desperate, the weak.

  “ _A weapon doesn’t make you stronger_ ,” _John grunted, sidestepping Dean’s right jab and grabbing his overstretched arm to yank him into a chokehold. “It just makes you think you are. It’s an illusion of power, nothing more.”_

Dean always pulled his punches first, then his teeth, then if it really came down to it, his knives. He had no doubt that the Alphas out there would be wielding fancy heirloom swords, trying to carve him up into chunks even if the primary intention of the match was to make the other party yield. The instinct of Alphas dictated that they _pulverize_ their prey, to ascertain that they would never come back to bite them in their figurative and literal ass. The Tournament was essentially a bloodbath, and if Michael wasn’t getting some kind of high off it, Dean would bet it was a strategic ploy to gain territory control.

The bastard was probably doing both.

Dean rolled his shoulders, grimacing as he wondered if every other Alpha attending this shitfest had a bed as lumpy and crappy as his. Probably not. He wouldn’t be surprised if Michael had given him servant’s quarters, seeing as how he was up since the crack of dawn by servants bustling in the kitchen, which just so happened to be right below his room. He was about to pour himself a cup of ale, to get rid of the stiffness in his joints and had lifted it to his lips when a hand came out of nowhere and he wound up kissing it rather than the rim of the cup.

  “What the f—“

  “Put it down, and please tell me that was going to be your first glass.”

Dean glared at the brunette, who was about a third of a foot shorter than him and had a pained look on his face. He didn’t look like a threat, but Dean had long since learned that appearances weren’t everything. He took an indiscreet sniff.

  “Beta, if you really must know,” the man rolled his eyes. “Before we have a chat about what I’m doing here, I’d really appreciate it if you would put down the cup. Cassie would, too.”

Dean dropped the cup immediately, releasing its contents all over the floor of his room. “Castiel?”

The man glanced down at the soiled hem of his servant’s robes, which blatantly belied the aristocratic lilt to his voice. His nose wrinkled in distaste before he spoke, one eyebrow winging up.

  “Was that really necessary?” the man sighed.

  “You mentioned Castiel,” Dean grabbed his shoulders, his head kicking into overdrive. _CastielCastielCastielCastiel—_

  “Indeed,” the man gingerly peeled off Dean’s hands. “I’m Gabriel, by the way.”

  “Michael’s younger brother,” Dean murmured.

  “Or Castiel’s older brother,” Gabriel shrugged. “I prefer the latter. Much less of an insult, thank you.”

  “What did Castiel say about me?” Dean asked urgently, ignoring Gabriel’s cynicism.

  “Why does nobody appreciate my unique sense of humor?” Gabriel gave a long-suffering sigh and drew a letter from the folds of his robe. “Here.”

Dean eagerly took the letter from him, and Gabriel rolled his eyes once more. “By the way, Dean-o. I’d really appreciate it if you won this shebang. Not just because I like pissing off Mikey, but because I have an honest-to-God wish to see Cassie okay.”

  “You and me both,” Dean murmured.

Gabriel left him alone with Dean’s letter, and the Alpha quickly started reading.

The Tournament was going to start soon.


	6. Nice Try, Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel royally pisses Michael off, and Dean discovers just what Michael means to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this would probably be a really good time to point out that I don't actually have anyone Beta-ing this stuff, so if you spot any errors, just drop a comment and I'll fix it. Sorry!

It wasn’t particularly hard to pick out Dean from the rest of the Alphas, even though there were one hundred and ninety-six of them on the field, milling around and generally jostling each other for territory (in other words, personal space). He was the only one who wasn’t wearing some polished armor that blinded Castiel when it caught the glare of the afternoon sun, or trussed up in the flamboyant colors of his regalia. He kept near the edges of the crowd, all the way in the back, leaning against the wooden scaffolding with his arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossing another in a laidback stance. He looked caught between amusement and impatience, and his celadon eyes flickered as he watched the other Alphas with a coolly critical gaze. His biceps fought against the tight enclosure of his shirt sleeves, and he was dressed simply, in the same boots he’d worn to the presentation ceremony and. He looked cavalier and blasé, making the other Alphas seem laughable by comparison, spreading their tail feathers and strutting around like peacocks. He didn’t look like he was dizzy with the effects of a light poison, which meant Gabriel had gotten to him in time.

Dean then seemed to finish his assesment, and nodded to himself, as if deciding he had a fair chance of winning this stupid affair. Castiel fervently hoped he had a overwhelming odds on his side, not just because he wanted Dean to win and rescue him from Michael like he was some kind of damsel in distress, but because he wanted Dean’s victory to be a kind of sucker-punch Michael in the face. He despised Michael’s underhanded maneuvers, and it occurred to him that his whole life had been constructed by them. Michael’s territory growing since his coronation was likely a testament to said sleight of hand, and if Dean was a enemy created as a casualty result of it all, Castiel wouldn’t have been surprised. They seemed to know each other, at least enough for their apparent mutual hatred to be visceral, explaining why Michael seemed to want to do away with him.

But the only question Castiel really wanted to ask was: _am I just a tool in your fight against my assbutt of an older brother? Am I just a pawn in a game between you two?_

“Attention, please!” Michael held out his hands as if he could physically calm the Alphas. “I would like to inaugurate the Tournament and begin the first round of matches soon. But first, let me re-introduce my beloved youngest brother”—Castiel clenched his jaw and felt the urge to be sick all over his brother’s back—“and let him start off the ceremony with the favouring ritual.”

He came forward, filmy white lace garter already in his hands, and suppressed a smirk when he heard Michael audibly grinding his teeth over his lack of…enticing the Alphas with a minor striptease. It would certainly get the nobles on edge, and get their testosterone fired up so they’d provide a more entertaining Tournament for the other non-Alpha nobles viewing the spectacle. But Castiel wasn’t in the mood to oblige Michael.

Every Alpha looked up when Castiel stepped out from behind Michael, and expressions varying from salivating with lust to condescending covetousness. They didn’t bother concealing their opinions of Castiel, a privilege awarded to Alphas because it was expected of them to desire Omegas, particularly those of good lineage and wealthy dowries. Castiel, however, had the burden of having to do away with his emotions when he was in the presence of others, expected to suppress and blank out his feelings.

“You know the plan,” Michael whispered as he walked past, so softly it could have been mistaken for the breath of a zephyr. Castiel merely nodded, keeping his head down so no one could see the slight curve his lips.

He walked down the wooden steps, escorted by a whole squadron of guards who pushed back the Alphas when they tried to get a hand in on Castiel. He would remain pure until he was claimed, and for at least that long, he would be escorted by armed Beta soldiers whenever he was out of his rooms.

He walked into the thick of them, knowing and letting his feet carry him where he needed them to, his heart thumping like the foot of a wild rabbit when it senses danger. The scent of Alphas was thick in the air, permeating his nostrils and making him feel an odd mix of an instinctual desire to submit and a conscious desire to retch. The wicked knowledge of what he was about to do both frightened and spurred him on. Gabriel, watching from the sidelines with an uncharacteristically sober expression, would be proud of what he was about to witness. Michael, on the other hand, was going to be livid beyond reparation. Years of his oldest brother’s pedagogy tried to force him to do as Michael wished, ringing alarm bells in his head and trying to rein him in. But Castiel was not his oldest brother’s little puppet anymore. Michael could very well go to Hell, thank you.

Alphas scowled and growled and snarled when he ignored them, carrying the favor past them. Some of them even went so far as to be ungracious and shouted obscenities about making him their bitch. He turned a deaf ear, and it wasn’t hard; the blood was pounding in his ears where it had gone chilly everywhere else in his body, frozen over by fear of retribution, but his body was alive with a fire of daring and boldness.

Then he walked past Zachariah, feeling a thrill of smugness when the Alpha’s jaw dropped, ruining his expectant expression.

He didn’t need to turn back to see, but could clearly hear the bitten-back shout that Michael suppressed with years of having decorum drilled into him. Zachariah joined the ranks of the ungracious, howling and yelling at his back, trying to get a bite out of him but forced back by a solid line of Castiel’s guard, who knew not of Michael’s plans and were just doing their simple duty, unaware that they would likely get entangled in Michael’s wrath for manhandling Zachariah away.

Castiel kept walking, and walking, and then stopped right in front of Dean Winchester.

The green-eyed Alpha looked down at him without a hint of carnality or greed in his eyes (which was rather ironic, given the very tincture of his irises). He gazed down at Castiel, and a fond, understanding smile warmed the hard lines of his face. There were a lot of things Castiel couldn’t see from a distance, like his unshaved stubble and the lines that crinkled around the corners of his eyes when he smiled. The bump of his Adam’s apple that Castiel longed to smooth his fingers over, and feel the breath of this Lycan who had pulled him out of the depths of his own misery. The freckles that hadn’t faded with age, reminding him of the boy who had given him the necklace that still hung around his neck under the layers of his robes.

“Hey, Cas,” he murmured, and Castiel couldn’t help a tiny smile when he saw Dean’s fingers twitch with the longing to touch him. They both had the same sentiment.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel whispered, and without a flicker of doubt or hesitation, he gave Dean the garter.

Then all Hell broke loose.

Michael screamed something that Castiel couldn’t quite decipher, and suddenly the guards were surrounding him, blocking Dean from his line of sight and practically hauling him back to the grandstand. He ineffectually struggled against the vice-like grips of the guards, who were wearing metal gauntlets and had years of strength training under their belts. He heard Dean’s explosive roar of rage when he was taken away, and his body shuddered with a kind of yearning to calm the Alpha, to bodily allay his rage. This time, he wasn’t surprised when a drop of emollient slick escape the hole between his asscheek, sending shivers up his spine at the amatory sensation.

“You reckless, imprudent fool!” Michael half-snarled at him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and dragging him into his seat, barely managing to restrain himself for decorum’s sake. “I explicitly told you—“

“Get over yourself, Mikey,” Gabriel appeared from behind Castiel’s chair, a derisive smirk on his face. “Just because Cassie here gave Dean-o his panties, doesn’t mean you have to get yours in a twist."

Castiel, in a rare moment of bravery backed by his brother’s support, flashed a bit of teeth at his oldest brother. “I believe _your_ audience awaits, Michael.”

“I will deal with you later,” Michael growled, half-shoving Castiel against the back of his seat. He turned on his heel sharply and returned to the front of the grandstand.

Castiel let his eyelids slide shut as his body went slack, feeling a potent mix of fear and relief pump through his blood vessels. The corners of his lips curved in an infinitesmal smile when he felt Gabriel hesitantly running his fingers through his hair.

“You did good, puppy,” Gabriel murmured, trying to keep his voice reassuring. It was uncharacteristic of him, and Castiel felt the rare tickle of a laugh bubbling in his stomach. “Don’t worry.”

Castiel nodded. He could hear Michael briefing the Alphas on how the Tournament was to unfold, with three matches going simultaneously on the large grounds with spectators being able to watch six Alphas go at it all at once. There was no time limit, and the primary purpose was to make the other party yield rather than to kill. Participants could fight in wolf form or human form, but seeing as almost all of them donned human armor, it was safe to say that they were planning on swinging swords and clashing shield rather than their true, fundamental natural state of snapping jaws and scratching with claws. Castiel wanted to scoff at their abandoned roots. Oh, if the great Fenris, father of all Lycans could see them now, he’d be tremendously disappointed and infuriated with his descendants.

In the meantime, he leaned forward in his seat, mentally wringing his hands as he watched the violence unfold, all for the sake of his secondary gender and lineage.

 _Please, please_ , Castiel squeezed his eyes shut as the noises of the metal protesting and Alphas growling increased to fever pitch all around him. _Let Dean win._

* * *

 

 _Oh, for the love of_ —

Dean’s face twisted into a grimace as he ducked a particularly pathetic excuse of a swing, the blade swishing through the air over his head. If this was the best Michael could come up with, then this was going to be a friggin’ walk in the park.

Castiel had sent him a letter not full of sweet endearments (though that would have been nice, Dean thought ruefully), but of warning. Michael was going to try and off him as best he could, while making himself look totally innocent and beyond reporach for the massacre that was likely to free up territory for his control. He had given Dean the longest, and supposedly toughest lineup for the Tournament, all hardened war veterans and warriors.

So far, Dean was seeing cocksure bastards who had only ever directed their troops from behind the frontlines, a solid wall of soldiers and an even thicker wall of personal guards between themselves and the enemy. They likely didn’t even plan their own war tactics, having a whole council of war strategists and generals to do the job for them.

Unfortunately for Michael, who was clearly grinding his teeth on the grandstand as he watched the match unfold, Dean didn’t have the same luxury when it came to war. He fought on the frontlines, not merely out of necessity, but out of honor and pride in his role as an Alpha.

Alphas were meant to be the leaders, the generals, the big guns. They weren’t supposed to hide behind Betas and humans, sacrificing the lives of others for themselves. They were supposed to sacrifice themselves _for_ others, for their pack.

Years of defending and fighting on behalf of his pack, trained by his father until his bones broke and his blood stained the ground, pushed to the edge of desperation and clawing his way back to safety had hardened him into the kind of Alpha who hit first and asked questions later. He fought for his pack, and would stretch his neck out for even the youngest of the pups, the oldest of the elders, no questions asked. John had drilled it into him, as he would into his offspring, no matter what their secondary gender was.

And he was doing this for his pack, for their future, and most importantly, for who would be part of his pack.

Castiel had taken a great risk, giving him the favor. Michael made it very clear that Castiel doing that was _not_ part of the plan. He knew that Zachariah was the intended recipient in Michael’s books, and was likely going to be his final obstacle when it came to winning this dumb-ass party Michael called a Tournament.

But seeing Castiel again had done _things_ to him. Things that set sparks alight in his blood, and started a fire low in his gut. It was a good kind of fire, one that made you want to curl up around it like a hearth on a winter’s night. The Omega’s skin was all peaches and cream, and his eyes were like the cobalt glass pieces in Jo’s dreamcatcher back home, all aglow like when the afternoon sunlight came pouring through the window and illuminating it. His smile was shy, like he wasn’t entirely sure that Dean wouldn’t accept his favor (like hell he wouldn’t), almost as if he were a young bride meeting his beloved groom at the altar, a little nervous but a heck of a lot happy.

And Dean wanted him to wear that smile forever, even if it meant burying his own hands in blood.

Like now, as he turned the Alpha’s blade on him and speared him right through his heart. The Alpha stared up at him, shocked even as his eyes went glassy.

“I thought…” the Alpha spluttered, blood trickling down his chin. “Yield…”

Dean gave him a disdainful snort. “Yeah, ain’t happening.”

He dumped the Alpha’s corpse on the ground, and looked up at Michael, who was _glaring_ down at him like he wanted to get down there and get in a few swings at Dean himself. So Dean did the best thing he knew how to do: he smirked at Michael.

_Nice try, bitch. Two down, eight to go._


	7. Two More to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Two of the Tournament: Dean only has two more opponents to go, one of them being Zachariah. The latter is scheming with Michael, and Castiel is both triumphant and worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was just basically me doing a lot of "waxing poetic" about Dean and Castiel. Not a lot of dramatic plot action, I'm afraid.

Specks of blood spattered Dean’s face as he ripped out the throat of his eighth and the final opponent for the day. His partial transition into borrowing his wolf’s fangs allowed him to do as much with great and pleasing ease, and the muscles in his jaw worked so his elongated incisors could effectively cut off the other Alpha’s breathing by sinking themselves deeper into his windpipe. The blood tasted foul and acrid on his tongue, and dribbled down his chin onto his shirt. He knew his wolf was dangerously close to the surface, and if he wasn’t pushing it down with his last vestiges of self-control, it would force him into a complete transition and he’d be a instinct-driven, feral wolf on the Tournament field. It would be a card Michael could use to eject him from the rest of the stupid wingding, and like hell Dean was going to give him that kind of satisfaction.

His dying opponent’s body spasmed as he took his last convulsing breath, and Dean let him fall unceremoniously to the ground. The Lycan stared up at him with glazed-over eyes, his throat shredded and his mouth open in a silent scream. It was a sickening sight, but one Dean was used to seeing. Living in the Borderlands had made him get over the whole “I’m a murderer” guilt-trip fast; it was either the pack or them, and it was a no-brainer which one Dean would pick.

“Alpha Dean Winchester wins this match!” a young heralder armed with a glossy trumpet draped in the Eden regalia announced, unaware of his King glaring malevolently down at them.

Michael’s shoulders had gone increasingly stiff as the Tournament progressed, his grip on the grandstand’s banister had tightened enough for the wooden to splinter under his fingers. That had to hurt, but Dean sincerely hoped it did, even if it didn’t appear to bother the asshole at the moment.

Castiel, on the other hand, looked fantastic. When the matches had begun and Dean snuck a peek at him, he looked paler than death, chewing his full lower lip in a frenzy. Now, he was relieved, a shadow of an exuberant grin ghosting across his face, subdued by the need to be proper in the presence of other nobles. Dean itched to give him reason not to give a damn about everyone else, to let his smile light up his face freely and without fear of repercussion. It was a beautiful thing to behold, Castiel’s smile—a sign of his happiness, something Dean desperately sought to preserve.

However, there was a poorly-concealed five-fingered mark on his cheeks. If you weren’t looking closely like Dean was now, you’d assume he was blushing. But there was a tiny gash on his cheekbone, the unmistakable sign that he’d been struck by someone wearing a ring. And Michael was the only one with reason to hit Castiel, and there was a lone signet ring on his right hand. The sight of Castiel’s injury had maddened Dean to the point of rashness and recklessness; blinded by rage, he imagined his opponents to be Michael, and didn’t bother evading their wild swinging, going straight for their jugulars. The blood and their dying cries could not quench the fire that had been ignited in his body, and he’d howled with a gloating triumph with every victory, deliberately trying to rub Michael up the wrong way. It would be highly satisfying for Dean if the King himself decided to intervene, and then he could get a valid basis to brutally mutilate and slaughter Michael. It had been John Winchester’s goal to exact revenge on the thieving Lycan who had stolen their homes, and now it was Dean’s inheritance to murder the dickbag for harming his future mate.

The sun was fast beginning to set, disappearing beyond the mountain range in the horizon with its last rays of light stirring the sky into a beautiful artwork of pinks and oranges and reds. It was a gentler sunset than the one Dean was accustomed to at home on the Borderlands, with the sun burning everything it could touch. He endured it by sitting on the shaded porch of the pack den with an ice-cold Corona in one hand (none of that Pabst Blue Ribbon shit, fucking thank you) and the music of the desert wind made real through the gilted wind chimes Charlie brought back from her trip to Oz.

Someone on the field shrieked, and their cry was just as quickly cut off with a wet gurgling noise, but Dean didn’t turn to look. He’d seen and done enough for one day, and he just wanted to keep looking at Castiel with unabashed openness. The Omega couldn’t afford the same audacity, and slid him surreptitious glances, eyes incandescent with a pleasure that his lips could not express. Watching Castiel gave Dean a sort of euphoric sense of comfort, like he was doing the right thing, that the means justified the ends.

Then Michael was announcing the end of the second day of the Tournament, and the spectators were reluctant about leaving, some of them even going so far as to demand a fucking encore. Dean bit back a very angry noise that stirred his blood and just as promptly died in his throat when he saw Castiel getting up, armed guards at the ready to escort him back to the palace. The youngest Novak gave Dean the faintest glimmers of a grateful smile, before a guard passing between them concealed them from sight and then Castiel was gone.

He sighed in frustration, knowing that getting all Alpha about it wasn’t going to do him or Castiel any good. He began the solitary walk back to his rooms, noting with some absentminded disgust that he was going to have to get a shower and get rid of his tattered clothes. Both the pants and shirt had been shredded, and stained with blood that had come from the already-healed cuts of his own and the never-going-to-heal wounds of his opponents. He would have to burn them, and then explain to Ellen when he got home exactly how he managed to ruin a perfectly good set of shirt and pants.

With luck, he wouldn’t be going home alone.

There was a basket of food sitting at the bottom of his closet when he got back to the room, sitting next to his other pair of boots. He wrinkled his nose at the unhygenic choice of hiding place, but he had to admit Gabriel had a point when he said it would be the last place to look if Michael’s spies were looking for food to poison him with. Thankfully, the basket had been covered in a thin cloth, which Dean wet with some water from the jug on his nighstand and wiped his face with. The cooling sensation it left made him feel marginally better, and the sight of fresh bread and (fuck yes) red meat in the basket only amplified his brightening mood.

It never felt good to kill, even if he knew it was going to be worth it. He didn’t like watching people’s eyes go “lights-out”, like someone was drawing a curtain behind them. The first time he’d snatched someone’s life, it had been an accident: he was following his father out on a raid, then someone sounded the alarm and they were running along the corridors of some rich man’s castle. Dean had been turning a corner, too focussed on getting out unscathed and even though he’d sooner admit it over his dead body, he was scared. A maid, no more than fourteen years old, probably apprenticing in the kitchens, had been coming around the corner the other way, and Dean’s knife had been up because he’d been anticipating a guard and—

The memory haunted his sleep in the form of nightmares for months afterwards, until the second time he killed, and as John had said: “it gets easier.” It didn’t make the guilt ache any less, or lighten the bitterness it left at the back of his throat. But he managed to compartmentalize it, and the pack came first.

Now, Castiel came first.

Dean could climb mountains and yell from the peaks into the skies for everyone beneath it to hear, that he was head over heels for the dark-haired and blue-eyed Omega. He’d always thought he’d fall for a woman, but then he was sixteen and there was an angry, mistrustful boy with wretchedness his eyes, glaring back at him. He didn’t know that he was in love with him then, but looking back, Dean wanted to laugh. How did people even know they were in love? The process had been so slow, and the end result had been a truth that was overwhelming in its reality--it was like falling asleep slowly, unaware that Morpheus had its hold on you and was drawing you ever deeper, then you were asleep and the next morning you’d realize, startled, that you didn’t ever remember falling asleep. You just… _did_.

He had felt the loss of the necklace so acutely, that sometimes he would wonder why his neck felt so naked. Sam had brought it up once, unhappily thinking that Dean had lost it carelessly. His curiosity had been piqued when Dean told him he’d given it to someone who needed it more, and then the little shit blabbed about it to everyone else and the entire pack got on his case, teasing him about finding a mate even when he’d just presented.

Castiel still had the pendant, and he’d treasured it deeply; the letter he’d given to Dean by way of Gabriel had told him as much. He thanked Dean for both the necklace and the bracelet, his words a little stiff, a little awkward, like he didn’t know how else to reply. He’d be damned if that was the most fucking adorable thing ever.

On the other hand, it had crossed Dean’s mind that Castiel might not perceive Dean the same way he did; he’d worried, just for a heartbeat, that Castiel might see Dean as a way out. He might be using Dean as a means to be free of Michael—then he would remember Castiel’s reaction in the presentation ceremony, the way his body flared up and his arousal could be scented all throughout the hall, and he would grin. Even if Castiel could be withholding his own doubts about Dean, the Alpha would do everything in his power to banish those doubts.

But to do that, he had two more obstacles to pulverize, and maybe a hissy fit or a dozen from Michael’s brother to endure.

* * *

 

  “I apologize, Lord Zachariah,” Michael’s jaw was still tightly clenched, and he was speaking through his teeth. His eyes were tightly focussed on Castiel, who looked everywhere but back at him, more out of evasiveness than submissive respect. “I grossly underestimated Dean Winchester. It had slipped my mind that barbarians fight without honor or civility.”

 _Takes one to know one_ , Castiel thought with a level of viciousness he didn’t know he’d possessed. Michael just always seemed to bring out the worst in him.

  “It doesn’t matter, your Grace,” Zachariah replied, his tone laden with condescension and conspiratorial smarminess, and he proceeded to indulge in more than a few fingers of Scotch. “I’ve made… _preparations_ for the match tomorrow. Should Dean Winchester be my final opponent, either way I will still emerge victorious. Never fear.”

Gabriel had been banished to his rooms, and while Castiel was feeling vulnerable without the support, cynical and snarky though he may be, the youngest Novak hoped that the prankster was at least putting his time to good use: helping Dean.

The Alpha had fought with a sort of offhanded indifference, like he was highly unimpressed by his opponents. At first, Castiel thought he might be underestimating them, but by the time Dean lackadasically tear out the throat of his third opponent on the first day, his olive green eyes unperturbed by the blood that gushed forth, he was relieved. Michael had been the one underestimating Dean, and it had backfired on him spectacularly. The look on his face when Dean had given him the smirk that said _you were saying?_ had been priceless.

Duke Zachariah’s words now, however, caused a nervous chill to paralyze his muscles; what did he mean by “preparations”? Was Dean going to be at a gross disadvantage? He’d already warned Dean about the wolfsbane, and Gabriel was already taking the precautionery measures to evade Michael’s spies. He couldn’t very well ask Duke Zachariah what they were; it was highly plausible that both his oldest brother and the Duke suspected him of leaking their plans, given their jaundiced looks at him throughout the Tournament’s progress. He would just have to hope that Dean would be able to overcome Duke Zachariah’s scheming combined with Michael’s plotting.

Meanwhile, the Tournament had incited some uprising; not just from among the staff who protested against the noble guests’ crude treatment, but from the territories who had lost their Alphas to the competition for his hand in marriage. Dean, in particular, had vacated a particularly considerable amount of territory. As King, Michael was entitled to claim those territories—but not all were content to submit to a king like him, particularly those who had been loyal to their former rulers, and were cynical enough to see through the façade of the Tournament. It was a power play, and Michael was holding all the cards.

But Castiel was determined to take himself out of Michael’s hands, and giving his favor to Dean yesterday had been the very first step.


	8. End of the Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tournament draws to a close, and Zachariah and Dean face off with Castiel's heat looming over their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating recently! I hope this isn't too haphazard or poorly-written. I had some trouble writing this...

The third and final day of the Tournament dawned bright and clear.

Dean had awoken to a knock on the door, and he’d grouchily rolled out of bed to open the door to find one of Gabriel’s personal attendant waiting with a basket of his breakfast. With a grunt of thanks, he sent the attendant away before one of the servants Michael had assigned to him saw their exchange. He didn’t want to take the risk of alerting Michael to his awareness of the eldest Novak’s duplicity, lest he react with more underhanded maneuvers.

Gabriel had sent along a breakfast of bread that was still warm from the ovens, coupled with some cheeses and a slab of cold ham. Dean would have settled for a bigger hunk of meat and nothing else, but he wasn’t going to complain when the alternative was poison. He crammed as much food as he could into his mouth, shrugging on his clothes and lacing up his boots as he went. The sundial in the kitchen stone courtyard beyond his room window informed him that he had a little less than an hour to the start of the first match. He didn’t want to take any chances of Michael holding his tardiness against him—and he wouldn’t put it past the bastard. With a sigh, he levered himself into a standing position, rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin as he weighed the benefits of offering a prayer to Fenris.

It was a dumbass notion, the idea of a wolf god who had sired the Lycans centuries ago, and Dean had told John as much when the older Winchester had even breathed the very idea to him. Of course, he’d gotten a solid smack on the back of his head for it, because for all his gruff cynicism, John Winchester was a guy who needed something to believe in, especially in the wake of his wife’s death and the loss of his home.

  “Dear Fenris, who art maybe in some dimension that I cannot pronounce,” Dean closed his eyes to better convince himself. And Fenris, if he was watching. “I pray that you have your furry ears on, and hear my plea… breaker, breaker?”

He clapped his hands together as he opened his eyes, looking about the room and the ceiling for some sign that he’d been heard. Apparently, Fenris either didn’t have his ears on, or he thought Dean was full of shit and wasn’t worth anwering. Well, either way, Dean agreed that yes, he was full of shit. But he’d come this far on his own terms, and he could damn well keep going without the help of some superstitious higher power.

He swiped his hand over his mouth and chin again with an exasperated noise and headed out the door. Servants bustled past, arms laden with trays of half-eaten food or piles of laundry both washed and filthy, and every single one of them gave him a look that hovered somewhere between scornful and curious. After all, he was a guest and a competitor for their Prince’s hand in marriage, so what was he doing in a room probably meant for the servants themselves? He had no doubt there were tongues wagging below the stairs as he climbed up them, and could probably attest to half of their gossip.

The Tournament’s spectator seats were filled with not only nobility but also the common folk by the time Dean walked onto the field, their racuous shouting all fusing into white noise, such that he couldn’t distinguish who was cheering for or jeering at him. The last two participants besides him were already present, glaring down their noses at him even though he outstood them at a little over 6 feet. Unsurprisingly, they weren’t the only ones: Michael was at the grandstand, hands behind his back and his jaw muscle jumping every time Dean so much as blinked, not even bothering to mask his baleful expression.

But Dean only had eyes for the blue-eyed man sitting a little ways behind him.

Castiel was wearing a veil over his face, similar to the appearance he’d donned the day of the presentation ceremony. He was clad in a white, lacey robe that unexpectedly cleaved to the gentle curve of his hips and the narrowness of his shoulders, playing up his Omegan features as much as possible. Yet even with the veil hiding his features, Dean could see his discomfort in the forlorn hunch of his shoulders, the bowed tilt of his head. He was miserable, and he had very good reason to be: his schedule for the day mostly involved watching violent bloodshed, being a victim of his oldest brother’s political scheming, and having to dread the possibility of spending his life as some old man’s fucktoy. 

On top of that, he was emitting the faint but noticeable scent of his first heat. It was a sweet, mesmerizing scent that tugged at the most base instincts in Dean’s wolf, the ones he worked hard to suppress ever since he’d first laid eyes on Castiel two days ago and triggered his arousal. On a normal day, he smelled like all things fresh and good, such as pine, oak, a hint of wild strawberry patch, and a satisfying dose of petrichor. On his heat, though, he smelled like everything Dean loved best: the heavenly fragrance of freshly baked pie, coupled with warm milk and the promise of a warmer bed.

And he wanted to fuck Castiel’s brains out.

If he could smell it, that meant everyone else on the field could, too. He glanced over at the other two Alphas on the field, fully expecting them to be reacting twice as strongly as him, given the reactions to Castiel’s arousal during the presentation ceremony. The other noble Alpha who was to be Dean’s first challenger was puffing out his chest in a show of dominance, his eyes wide and his pupils blown with the eager response of desire, gaze glued to Castiel’s figure. Dean wondered if he knew that his hips were rocking slightly, as if thrusting his dick, and scowled because _what the fuck?_

He glanced over at Zachariah, and was mildly startled to find the older Alpha completely unperturbed. He was even smirking faintly now, alternating between smirking at Dean and the other participant, whose throat Dean was now highly tempted to rip out there and then. The Duke’s crotch wasn’t even bulging with the semi-erection Dean couldn’t help, unless the old bastard was wearing some kind of iron underwear. It was as if he had lost his sense of smell, and Dean didn’t like it. Zachariah’s smirk was a conspiratorial one, like he knew a secret and he wasn’t about to share it with anyone because it would be a detriment to himself.

Castiel was now fidgeting badly, his fingers twisting the material of his gown and his veil swaying slightly as his body trembled. He looked like he was going to collapse at any second, so it was with good timing that Gabriel appeared and gently tugged his baby brother into a chair. The older Novak murmured something into his ear, and Castiel made a noise that sounded like a cross between a whimper and an affirmative. Gabriel quickly departed, and Dean hoped that he had something in mind that would help alleviate Castiel’s discomfort.

Meanwhile, Michael was already commencing the beginning of the first match: Zachariah vacated the field, and the other Alpha had his hackles raised, making territorial noises at Dean. He was in his late thirties with a faint scar running down the length of his jaw, and a look about him that suggested he would pose more of a challenge than Dean’s previous opponents. His armor was a scratched, tarnished affair that looked like it had seen a considerable amount of action in battle and not enough polishing after. In any other situation, he would have posed a greater hurdle for Dean, but at the moment with the precursors of Castiel’s heat permeating the air…

Dean tamped down on his basic urges and his wolf’s instictive needs with years of onerous discipline, and severed the man’s spine with his own discarded sword when he burst into wolf form and charged Dean a little too recklessly.

Muted applause rang out, and Dean closed his eyes as the scent of blood diffused the intensity of Castiel’s oncoming heat. It was a relief, but it pissed him off to have the sweetness of Castiel’s scent polluted like this just to ease his own discomfiture of struggling to keep his beast in place. Then Gabriel returned, his swift movements catching Dean’s eye as he handed Castiel something folded in a piece of cloth, murmuring something under his breath so Michael couldn’t overhear. Castiel nodded by way of reply, withdrawing a pinch of whatever Gabriel had handed him from under the cloth and licking it off the pad of his finger in a way that Dean could only describe as erotic. Either way, the substance he swallowed made the smell of his nearing heat less potent and heady, because Dean no longer had to exert himself trying to rein in his instictual urges.

Michael stood up, his shoulders rigid with tension as he announced the final match. Cue drumroll, as Zachariah stepped out onto the field and unsheathed his sword with an unholy grin. Dean squinted as the sunlight reflected off it directly into his eyes—then Zachariah was flying forward with unexpected speed for a man of his girth. Dean was stunned, but he managed to recover enough to step out of the way before he was skewered on the sword like a kebab.

  “Michael didn’t even—“ Dean panted from a lack of respite between the first match and now this.

  “No rules, pretty boy,” Zachariah said smugly, and swung his sword.

Dean ducked and rolled, hissing as the blade came too close for comfort and sliced off the top of his hair. The hard-packed dirt ground was dry, so he got to his feet with little difficulty, but had to jump back again when Zachariah lunged at him. Dean had barely taken stock of the situation, and at present his main goal was to avoid getting himself killed. He was younger than Zachariah by a good twenty years at least, so he could outpace the older Alpha and wait for him to get tired.

The Duke got weary of chasing him around soon enough, and he stayed out of Dean’s immediate reach to catch his breath. Then Dean noticed the strange sheen of his sword, like a slightly off-silver coloring. It wasn’t the tarnishing of blood or rust, because Dean had seen plenty of that and Zachariah had seen plenty of nothing, so it was unlikely to be a lack of maintenance that gave the sword its strange appearance. The older Alpha seemed to catch where he was looking, and smirked at Dean’s bemused expression. Taking a chance that Dean was off-guard, he made a clumsy lunge once more, and Dean wasn’t about to let the strange thing slice him when he had yet to figure out what it was.

Zachariah seemed to enjoy his confusion, and made a big show of keeping up a series of quick attacks that inevitably left the older Alpha drained. Dean feinted, and Zachariah fell for it like the inexperienced fighter that he was, too used to playing war from behind a barrier of soldiers and strategists and generals to see through it. The older Alpha moved to defend himself with an offensive swing of the blade, a careless one due to his fatigue, and Dean slipped through the crack in his defense and struck the blade out of his hand with a sharp twist to his arm. The sword clattered to the ground, and Zachariah scrambled for it, but found himself immobilized by a dagger to his throat.

  “I yield!” Zachariah quickly yelped,stilling before Dean could slice a hole in his jugular and render him fatally wounded.

Dean hesitated: after all, the primary purpose of the match was to force your opponent into yielding, rather than killing them. A purpose that had gone fairly ignored by most throughout the Tournament, particularly by Dean. He’d been taught to kill, not to take prisoners. But he knew that if he killed Zachariah, there would be repercussions, particularly from a cranky Michael whose plans would be otherwise toppled. He might as well keep the older Alpha alive, let Michael have his political playmate to wrangle more deals where Castiel wasn’t involved. So he sheathed his dagger, and made the foolish mistake of turning his back, thinking it was over.

He didn’t hear the trumpets blowing, announcing his victory, didn’t hear Michael declaring the Tournament was over, even in a begrudging tone. Just the grunt of an old Alpha, the sound of a sword being picked up, and not being sheathed.

Dean turned one second too late, and the sword cut his bicep. It was a shallow wound, but it drew blood, and the smirk on Zachariah’s face said it all: the reason why the sword looked funny, why he’d swung it so wildly.

  “All’s fair in love and war,” Zachariah wheezed, his expression smug, The cheating bastard.

Dean tried to bleed out the poison by opening the cut wider, pushing the seams of his skin apart with his fingers. Blood trickled thinly, and he knew that if he exerted himself, his heart rate would increase and pump the poison around his body at a much faster rate.

He glanced up at Michael, expecting him to declare foul play of Zachariah’s false “yield”, but he smirked like he agreed with Zachariah.

 _Two can play at the same game,_ Dean inwardly growled.

Dean let his wolf take over, allowing his rage to come forward and take the reins. Zachariah and Michael weren’t the only ones who could pull a dirty trick, and there were screams that pleased Dean’s inner beast when his Lycan form stalked his opponent on a field that suddenly looked too small to confine his size and the power he emanated. He barely heard Zachariah’s pleas to yield, and only when he tasted the blood of the older Alpha did he allow sanity to return. Awareness returned with it, and he found himself chewing on the corpse of Duke Zachariah Alder. He spat it out, disgusted by the revolting taste of his blood and the viscuous fat that took up more body mass than muscles did. There was a wet, sickening splat as the remains of Zachariah Alder hit the ground, and Dean slowly transitioned back to his human form to swipe a forearm across his bloodied face. The blood only smeared, making more of a mess, and it stank of the hedonistic indulgences that had made up Zachariah’s life.

Dean lifted his chin, and stared back at a horrified and furious Michael, and felt a smirk ghost across his lips while he felt like gagging.

_All’s fair in love and war, you son of a bitch._

He fainted just as he heard the trumpet fanfare declaring his victory, and Michael’s reluctant announcement that Dean Winchester had won the Tournament, blood aflame with the poison and feeling like a thousand ants were creeping under his skin, all the while Castiel was screaming his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so if it was awkward or stilted, I am terribly sorry. Do comment on how I might improve it, please! And I suck at writing action scenes. I can't wait to move on to the cuddling scenes, because now THAT I can write *gleeful noises*.


	9. The Wise Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Tournament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I kept you waiting! I've been dealing with school shit (my grades came back and let me tell you one thing: I am not going anywhere great in life at this rate), and this chapter took a while for me to crank out because I had to keep going back and re-editing. Inconsistencies, research, and whatnot... it took a while. There might still be a few errors around, I'm not entirely sure (I usually skim through it as a final check, not really going through the details because I tend to work it out when I'm working on it). But if you do spot one, drop me a comment and let me know so I can fix it. If you like it, then also drop me a comment so I can hug you lots.

Michael was in a foul mood, and those who were wise stayed far out of his way. Castiel, unfortunately, was ordered to stay at his side lest some errant Alpha behaved out of his place and seized him, a threat more or less absent now that Castiel was Dean’s mate, even if the officialdom of it was unspoken and undeclared. In reality, that left him a victim to Michael’s temper, which had been barely held back when Dean delivered the killing bite to his co-conspirator, effectively ending whatever scheme he’d plotted so carefully and painstakingly. Upended furniture, broken porcelain, torn curtains were the casualties of Michael’s rage, and he’d struggled to overturn a hand-carved solid wood chair that had been the throne of their great, great, great, great grandfather, only to find it was too heavy and kick it in frustration instead. The chair exacted its revenge by refusing to give way and stubbing Michael’s toe instead. If the situation hadn’t been so dire with Dean’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance and his impending heat, Castiel might have laughed.

But as it were, Michael was cursing Dean’s name, and withholding aid and physikers to help him when it was indisputably Michael’s duty as host to offer it to his guest. Zachariah’s foul play at a false yield coupled with Michael’s closing one eye to it had garnered quite a bit of expostulation. Some of the elders in the advisory council, even those who had applauded Michael’s conquests since the day of his coronation, had made known their disapproval to him. Kings didn’t cheat and they certainly did not condone cheating, or so they had said. Then Michael dismissed them with his composure barely held together by the the thinning string of patience, and once they’d left his sight, he began to terrorizing the contents of his rooms.

Castiel stayed in one corner, trying to make himself as small as possible. He’d already made the mistake of attracting Michael’s notice by standing between him and a writing desk that now lay in splintered pieces. His face stung, and he had no doubt that there was a bruise already forming on his cheekbone where Michael had backhanded him. He cradled his aching contusion with one hand, watching with wide, terrified eyes as his brother went on the warpath. His body struggled not to surrender to the arousal that grew stronger with each passing wave of ghost heats that lasted a few minutes every time, trembling with the effort of it and squirming as he attempted to stem the increasingly large volume of slick escaping from between his butt cheeks. It was tiring to keep his body under control when all he really wanted was Dean’s cock up his ass (he blushed at the crude thought, but then the next wave of feverish stimulation reached its peak and Castiel really couldn’t give a damn about being crass) and the situation wasn’t particularly in favor of that.

Michael’s violent outburst on the night he’d given Dean his favor was nothing like this: Michael was fairly _purple_ in the face, vein bulging in his throat and temple, shouting himself hoarse as he worked himself up into a frenzy.

  “That insufferable dog!” Michael tore the silk canopy of his bed down, rending it between his hands. “I’ll see to it that he never leaves this place and that it will be his graveyard! I will not let it slide this time!”

 _This time?_ Castiel wondered, wincing as he wriggled to get into a better position such that his body’s natural lubricant wasn’t making a puddle underneath his ass through his clothes. _What does that even mean?_

But he had more pressing things to worry about, like Dean’s impending death. If only he could squirrel a note away to Gabriel for help…

Michael whirled on him, a madness in his eyes that frightened Castiel, and his wolf was dangerously close to the surface. It was a bad omen; the last time Michael had ever let his wolf take over his consciousness _at all_ , was when he was seven and still learning the basics of harnessing his rampant emotions after a quarrel with Lucifer. He’d been broken of the habit, literally. Their mother had descended upon him with all the fury of the ice queen that she was, and beat them both into submission and apologies. To be more precise, she ordered someone else to beat them; the queen never sullied her own hands with grunt work.

  “M-Michael?” Castiel stammered, scrambling back into a wall he was already pressed up against.

Michael responded with a guttural noise in his chest, and his pupils were dilating, a clear sign that his wolf was practically just beneath his skin. This wasn’t good: if Castiel was within the vicinity of a rampaging Alpha, he could be ripped to shreds without being given a chance to even run, much less in a confined space. Alphas who had lost their consciousness due to overwhelming emotion like anger, a prime example being Dean that afternoon when he’d essentially made Zachariah into his chewtoy, lost all sense of reason. Their instinct became their driving factor, and forced themselves into isolation by eliminating any living creature that was encroaching their space, as a means of calming down.

Castiel could barely choke out a cry for help; his breath was seizing in his chest and his legs were frozen in place. Every instinct in his mind screamed at him to submit and surrender to Michael, who was at present still Castiel’s guardian and therefore pack Alpha. Fear blotted out everything else: his concern about Dean, his looming heat, everything. It paralyzed him, feeling like a million icicles were pinning him in place like some butterfly on display, and Castiel wanted to scream.

Michael exploded into his beast, a milky white wolf about the size of two poster beds and maybe a dresser thrown in, already foaming at the mouth and his eyes crazed as they stared Castiel down. There was no sign of his human consciousness in his eyes, only a madness tinged with fury and a feverish glint to it. Castiel whimpered instinctively, and would have rolled over to display submission if not for the icy fear that rooted him to the spot.

Then Michael lunged, and Castiel ducked in time for Michael’s face to go smashing into the wall. It must have hurt enough to stun the Alpha, because Castiel saw a window of opportunity and he snatched it, willing his legs to _work, dammit_ , and scramble in the direction of the door. Michael swung around, homing in on him and he yelped as he heard the wolf growling and turning towards him, but he didn’t look back until he was frantically undoing the latch on the doors and tumbling out. His oldest brother roared and bounded after him, but his size couldn’t maneuver easily in the confined space, big though his rooms were. He snapped his jaws, snarling and spittle flying everywhere, eyes never leaving Castiel. The youngest Novak found himself panting like a fish out of water, adrenaline spurring him into motion as he fell on his knees and turned around, making sure Michael didn’t somehow squeeze out after him. He’d never had a reason to fear death up until now, and he’d never expected the fear to arise from _Michael_. He was an assbutt to be sure, but he was… _Michael._ His oldest brother. The one who was always calm and in control and struck with words not his hands. Did he really hate Dean that much? Was there honestly such a great deal riding on his plans with Zachariah? Enough to warrant an outburst like this?

Either way, he wasn’t going to stick around and ask, because Dean was in need of help, and Michael was going to get loose at some point in time. His heart was pounding frenetically, and his body was a crazy cocktail of fear, adrenaline, anxiety and his imminent heat. He kicked the door shut in Michael’s face, and stumbled towards Dean’s room, feeling like he was being trampled by a herd of wild stallions, and shaking just as badly.

* * *

Dean was dying.

It wasn’t some exaggeration of his current condition, because Dean knew for a fact that his body was _not_ okay. It felt all wrong, like bad touching him. The sheets under him were soaked through with his sweat, and he felt like the room was moving under him, while every breath was a challenge to take. He felt like he’d just crawled to the top of Fang Mountain, the highest peak in the world where people went to die of suffocation because there was very little air up there. His heart certainly shared the sentiment, because it was hammering against his ribcage with a sickingly fast and incessant _thud-thud-thud-thud-thud_ that sounded too loud for comfort. Every once in a while, too often to be good, it was like a hand had reached into his chest and fucking _squeezed_ the shit out of his heart. He knew he’d moaned once or twice, and maybe thrashed around for a bit, trying to physically disentangle himself from the agony that had become his body. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, waiting for Death to come with its numbing darkness. He would openly welcome it by then.

Some people came into his room, Betas from whatever smell Dean was still of mind to recognize, and they puttered about his room. Someone put a cool, wet cloth on his forehead, while another brusquely attended to every wound but the poisoned one. He wanted to scream at them that if they didn’t treat the poisoned cut, they might as well not bother with the rest of him and just leave him the fuck alone.

 _Dumb fucks_ , Dean thought with a vicious spitefulness fueled by a pain that grew in its intensity with each passing moment, and he imagined his body on the bed, bugs crawling out of his stomach, lying in his own sweat and puke, a disgraceful death. John would have resurrected him just to kill him for going so dishonorably.

It was a long time of peaceful yet unnerving silence and stillness in the room before Dean heard a heart palpitating almost as fast as hi, and picked up on the distressed scent of a frightened Omega in heat.

_Castiel._

He squinted one eye open. Someone had thoughtfully drew the curtains, so it was blissfully dark and easy on his eyes, and Castiel was there, crouched on the stone floor with his back against the door. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, and his delicate little fists covering his eyes, all the while his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Dean could smell his nearing heat from two counties over, all seduction and promising pleasure, and would have gone feral over it if not for his fucking pain and the fact that Castiel’s distress was just as powerful, nearly blotting out the smell of his heat.

It took a while for Dean to summon the courage to brave the pain and find his voice, but he did, eventually. “…Cas?”

His voice was practically a whisper, and he himself could barely hear it, but Castiel did. He startled, fists dropping away to reveal those sweet baby-blues, except they were rimmed red with unshed tears, just like the first time they’d met. He also looked like a wreck, hair even more unruly than usual, like he’d just been crawled out of a bender, and his clothes were all in a disarry. He swallowed once, twice, struggling to find his voice.

  “Dean?” his voice was gravelly with a mix of fear and hope, and Dean winced when his arms instinctively moved to extend a hand to Castiel. “H-how—wh—have you been treated? For the poison?“

  “No,” Dean groaned. Even moving his lips felt like he’d eaten a basketful of Ellen’s favorite jalapeño peppers. Or maybe ten. “Treated everything. But.”

  “Oh, no,” Castiel got to his feet, swaying a little but at least the scent of his distress had ebbed a little, replaced with genuine concern. “I’ll go… _ughh.”_

Dean tried very hard to draw as little attention as humanely possible to his burgeoning erection as he watched Castiel turn scarlet in the face while his hands scrabbled to bunch up the material at his ass, most likely in an effort to stem the flow of slick that smelled fucking amazing.

  “Um,” Castiel gulped audibly, eyes eclipsed with lust such that his blue iris was just a luminous, thin cobalt ring around a black sun.

Dean could scent the yearning, the ache, and it was overwhelming in its heaviness. It was like anaesthetic, for all Dean knew, because one minute he could only feel pain, pain and more pain, and the next it was taking second place to the hunger in his groin. He unthinkingly let out a deep, rumbly growl, pitched low and steady, like the noise a possessive Alpha would make. It startled him, but his wolf was baying for Castiel. To mount him. To fuck him. To love him. To have him.

His unmindful growl, on the other hand, was making Castiel produce _even more_ musk. It was driving him crazy, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, given the circumstances.

  “I-I’ll just…um…” Castiel stammered, feet shifting uncertainly. He wanted to crawl on top of Dean and do unspeakable things, things that made him blush to the roots of his hair and bury himself six feet underground in embarassment. It was his wolf, going mad with lust and the frantic desire to have an Alpha’s knot plugged up inside him, filling him with seed and getting bred; it warred with his sensible human, which pointed out with annoying practicality that if he didn’t get help for Dean, then there wouldn’t be a knot to satisfy him at all. Instinct warred with logic, and while he very much wanted to just _present_ himself to Dean, time was being wasted. And every second that passed with him not getting Gabriel was going to cost him Dean’s life, and very likely his own. For if Dean was not there, then what hope did Castiel have for himself?

He steeled himself with very little human pragmatism left, and fled from the room without a word.

Dean flopped back on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself, oblivious to Castiel’s inner conflict when he’d thought he’d scared the Omega off with his stupid Alpha instincts. Then another round of nausea hit, wiping away all conscious thought so he’d wrench himself up over the side of the bed and dry-heave onto the stone floor, hacking badly. He was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when the door was flung open and Gabriel stood in the threshold, Castiel just a step behind him. Both of them reeked with concern and a mix of Beta-Omega- _Castiel-heat_ —

“Dean, stay with me,” Gabriel hurried over to the bed, neatly sidestepping the recently-made puddle that was the contents of Dean’s empty stomach. He pulled out a small satchel, all worn brown leather with bronze buckles and little pockets. Castiel hovered in the doorway, unsure and smelling like Heaven on Earth.

Gabriel produced a black stick of some sort, and forced Dean to swallow it. “It’s a kind of charcoal. It’ll flush your system of the poison. Might make you want to take a runny shit for hours on end, but hey, at least it gets the job done, right?”

Then he rummaged in his bag for a glass vial of some kind of powdered plant. He opened it, and washed the tiniest pinch of it down Dean’s throat with water. “Belladonna. Otherwise known as ‘deadly nightshade’. If I gave you even a speck more, you might die. Hallucination, delirium… our Aunt Anna, bless her soul, ate the berries and that’s how she died. She went on raving batshit crazy until they carted her off somewhere to kick the bucket in isolation.”

  “Is that—“ Dean coughed. “Is that supposed to be comforting? Because it’s really fucking not.”

  “ _Psh_ ,” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Besides, I sat in on a few physiker’s consultations. I saw how he did it. That’s good enough.”

Dean opened his mouth to make a snappy retort about how that was even _less_ helpful, and all of a sudden there was a loud, furious howl that echoed throughout the castle, followed by the sound of wood and stone breaking and crumbling. Vibrations shook the floor under them, and Gabriel immediately sobered.

  “What the fuck…?” Dean looked about him, wondering what the hell was happening. It sounded like it had come from upstairs, _way_ upstairs.

  “Cassie, come here,” Gabriel waved his little brother over. “Quickly!”

Castiel was frozen with fright and shock. They both knew who that noise had belonged to: Michael. He’d gotten free of the room. He was coming for Castiel. For Dean.

  “Cassie!” Gabriel hissed.

His brother’s urgent voice spurred him into motion, and he hastened to come to Gabriel’s side.

  “Help me get him up,” Gabriel jerked his chin at Dean, who was lying prone on the bed, watching them both with perplexed green eyes.

They each got Dean’s arm over the shoulders, and what a fine trio they made, walking down the hallways: one Omega going into heat at any moment, one poisoned and weakend Alpha, and one Beta cracking jokes about the Alpha’s weight.

  “You really ought to ease up on the beer, Dean-o,” Gabriel grunted, helping the Alpha stagger down the stairs, and very nearly tripping them all up. “You’re getting a pot belly.”

Castiel shot him a dirty look, just as the walls shook again, dust flying up around them as another roar ripped through the palace.

  “Hurry!” Gabriel urged.

It was a long, stressful journey down to the stables. Gabriel’s few loyal attendants were already there, saddling a horse. They bowed when they saw him, and quickly eased their Princes of their burden.

  “Cassie,” Gabriel grabbed his baby brother’s face in his hands as Michael let out another howl. His hazel eyes were fraught with anxiety, a look that Castiel had never seen on him before. “Listen to me closely. I want you to ride with Dean out of here. Get as far away as possible. Go to the Borderlands. Dean’s pack will protect you. And take this—“ Gabriel handed him the vial of belladonna “—administer it to him in the _tiniest_ of dosages every one hour for the next four hours and wash it down with water.”

Castiel stared at the vial in his hand, then at his brother, stunned. “Wh—“

  “No questions, puppy,” Gabriel winced at the sound of some part of the palace being demolished under Michael’s angry paws. “I need you to do as I say. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but this is for the best. I swear to you.”

  “I don’t wanna go without you,” Castiel whimpered. The thought of leaving the brother that had defended and protected him thus far was a traitorous one. Not only that: the idea of running off into the wilderness of the Borderlands, the uncertainty of Dean’s pack and whether or not they’d welcome him, and all the while with his heat too close for comfort… it scared the living daylights out of him.

  “You have to,” Gabriel fastened a firm, quick kiss to his forehead. “I know I haven’t always been the greatest of brothers, or the nicest. But I swore to Lucie that I would not let Michael have his way with you. And I swore to Dad that I would keep you safe. So let me keep my promises, okay?”

  “Will you come after us?” Castiel grabbed at his brother even as Gabriel was lifting him up on the saddle behind a pale and slightly woozy Dean. “Promise me you will!”

Gabriel stared at Castiel for a good, long moment, hazel against blue. Another howl wrecked the palace in the background, but this time neither of them paid any attention to Michael’s temper tantrum.

  “I promise,” Gabriel said quietly, and he slapped the rump of their horse. “Now go!”

The horse galloped off, and Castiel craned his head to look back at the shrinking form of his brother in the stable courtyard.

  “You promised,” Castiel whispered, and he buried his face in Dean’s sweaty back, shoulders shaking with tearless sobs for the third time that day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aand this chapter was mostly focussed on Castiel's relationships with his brothers, because after this, you won't be seeing them for a while (hint hint). Not much Dean action, since he's out of commission, soooo.... don't worry, you'll get plenty of Dean over the next chapters. Thank you for reading and do share your opinion unless it's mean!
> 
> (if it's mean, go away)


	10. Ride Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel escape Michael's clutches, but is all really well now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, and allow me to give out the huggles (they're like hugs and cuddles and snuggles combined). I'm afraid this chapter will be short, because it's mostly a filler chapter (not entirely sure what that means, but my definition being that it's just to fill a gap in the timeline of the story, like a interval between their leaving the palace and arriving at Dean's pack territory).

They rode for hours, stopping only for Castiel to administer the atropine powder to Dean, or for Dean to recover from his difficulty breathing before he inadvertently fell off the horse and broke his neck. By the time Castiel had fed Dean his fourth dose, the sun had fully set beyond the horizon and the moon had taken its place, the darkness a merciful blessing of coolness and cover as opposed to glaring heat.

The two of them exchanged nary a word; the direness of their situation, coupled with Castiel’s potent heat-scent and Dean’s slow recovery from his courtship with Death filled the silence between them well enough. The only noise between them was the hoofbeats of the horse they rode, striking against the hard-packed ground in a steady, staccato rhythm, and Dean’s harsh breathing through his mouth. Castiel kept his face buried in Dean’s sweat-soaked back, borrowing the comfort of his natural Alpha pheromones, even if they were layered under the stress and sickness. It simultaneosly soothed and aroused him, the growing amount of slick between his ass-cheeks and the feverish desire that was burning in his groin, making him unintentionally dry-hump Dean’s back. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing, mistakenly assuming that it was the horse jostling him, until Dean gave an awkward cough he’d misinterpreted as the side effects of the atropine working against the wolfsbane. So Dean pointedly mentioned that he could feel Castiel’s erection against his ass, a bald and crude statement that had him turning a fiery red to tips of his ears. Up until that point, Castiel’s mind had been all worry for Gabriel and Dean, and bitter loathing for Michael. Then all he could think about was Dean and how good it would feel to have his dick up Castiel’s ass. He’d be overcome with embarassment and shame, thinking of how hateful his Omegan biology was for triggering such sordid desires, and his mind would wander to Alpha biology and their knots… and then the whole cycle would repeat all over.

From then onwards, their silence became an awkward one, and Castiel could smell and feel Dean’s increasing tension as they rode westwards. He knew Dean was between a rock and hard place; his beast was letting out a low, continuous growl that made Dean’s body vibrate against Castiel’s chest, and yet he was still having difficulty staying conscious and breathing.

The horse determinedly carried them through small towns and lush forests, all asleep and quiet peacefulness. Castiel had expressed his sympathy for the poor thing, believing it must be exhausted, and insisted they let it have a break to drink some water and rest. But Dean refused to stop unless it was for another dose of atropine, or for him to steady himself and recover from the side effects of the powder mixed with the dredges of wolfsbane in his system.

After what had felt like days but was in actuality five hours of nonstop riding, the landscape thinned out into rocks and sparse greenery, all tundra and the chilly night wind untainted by the smell of civilization. Castiel shivered, Dean’s body too ill from the aggressiveness of the atropine treatment and aftereffects of near-fatal wolfsbane poisoning to provide any of his usual body heat. Castiel’s own body was no better: it was a volatile brew of uncertainty, the preliminary stages of his first real heat, and the cold desert night winds, leaving him moaning and teeth chattering. He didn’t have to look to know that there was a damp patch on the saddle under his ass, and he found that the emptiness in his hole was achingly unbearable. Castiel’s ears and cheeks were numb from the cold, yet the rest of his body was a flaming beacon of wanton need. If Dean was aware of his discomfort, he showed no sign except to urge the horse onwards, jaw taut and shoulders stiffer than a boulder.

Then Castiel squinted, able to make out flickering lights and the outline of a large, sprawling house in the distance. They were on Dean’s territory now, and as they neared, the house came alive with the lighting of lamps, howls of welcome and boisterous cheering. Lycans from Dean’s pack spilled out onto the porch, a surprisingly massive amount for a pack that made its living in the barren wilderness of the Borderlands that no other Lycan had ever been able to tame enough to survive. As the horse carried them closer, the wind shifted such that they were upwind, and Dean’s pack turned gravely quiet when they scented their Alpha’s predicament:

_Fear._

_Poison._

_Stress._

_Omega._

_Heat._

It was not the scent of an Alpha returning victorious, and Castiel could hardly blame them when he saw their hackles rising as they approached. Once Dean pulled the horse to a stop in the front yard, all hell broke loose: the pack swarmed them, and Castiel was overwhelmed by the confusing myraid of at least twenty different Lycan scents all at once, complete with their strongly exhibited emotions. He was regarded with suspicion and astonishment, and then Dean was handing him off to some Beta that had the same earthy overtones as the Alpha.

Castiel was whisked away just as he heard Dean yelling: “ _Get him away from me!”_

* * *

  _It was like a horse ride through the deepest, darkest pits of Hell. If this was punishment for not believing in Fenris, Dean wouldn’t have given it a moment’s doubt. It was a pure, unadulterated fuckfest._

_He’d been poisoned, then counter-poisoned, and packed off on a horse while having difficulty breathing with an Omega going into heat. And not just any Omega: the one Omega he’d been searching and fucking pining for for years. Of all the trials he’d been put through, this one was by far topping the list of “Things Dean Winchester Never Wants to Endure Again”. Castiel had even been dry-humping his back, and letting out tiny little moans, all the while smelling like fertility and the promise of his mom’s apple pie with cinnamon on top. It had taken an insane amount of concentration on enduring the mercurial battle between atropine and wolfsbane in his body, both bearing the potential of killing him from the inside or making him fall off the horse and breaking his neck. He made his body stay rigidly still with an intense self-discipline cultivated from years of training, none of which had been meant for him deal with this. His silence and stiffness was all him locking his jaw and steeling his muscles frozen, and if he were a lesser man, he would have pulled the horse over and fucked Castiel into the ground hours ago, poisoning notwithstanding._

_When they reached the sanctuary of Dean’s pack, he was relieved beyond measure. He’d ordered Sam to get Castiel away from him before his wolf could do something he would later regret, and surrendered himself to the ministrations of their pack healer and the blessing of unconsciousness._

Dean awoke to the familiar, comforting smell of his pack all around him. He was lying in his room at the pack house, on a soft bed with moderately scratchy sheets and a woolen blanket pulled over his naked but thankfully clean body. Said body felt like it had been dragged through a mulcher and played chewtoy for a bunch of ravenous hellhounds, but at least he was breathing easier now, and he no longer felt like he was being hugged by bad vibes.

His joints creaked in protest when he tried to get upright, and his stomach joined in the rebellion by making a noise on par with an Alpha’s snarl. Ignoring it, he got to his feet, wobbly but still able to take a few steps until he had to reach for his dresser for support. He groaned at the idea of having to need help just for walking, then balked as his body claimed defiance. The dresser was unable to withstand his weight, and gave way to slam against the wall, leaving him stumbling to the floor. The loud noise it generated broke the peaceful quiet, and Dean winced both in pain and sheepishness.

There was the pounding of feet against the wooden floorboards, someone being shoved and getting shoved back, and the door was slammed open to reveal at least half the pack in the entryway. Sam was filling most of the doorway with his stupidly gigantic frame, shaggy brown hair messier than usual and eyes wide with panic. Trying to squeeze past him was Jo, Charlie, Benny, Kevin, Garth and Balthazar, all of them jamming up the hallway and smelling like worryconcernexcitement—

  “Dean, are you alright?” Sam asked, kneeling beside him to check for external injuries and finding the bruise on his knee where it hit the floor. And left a Dean’s-knee-sized splintered dent.

  “What do I have to do to get some food in this joint?” Dean groused, his voice scratchy from disuse.

Sam gave a weak chuckle, and the others took it as a green light to pour into the room and climb all over him with hugs and smacks on the back.

  “Thought you were never going to wake up, you bastard!” Jo hid her concern behind a rough punch to his shoulder.

  “Glad to have you back in the world of the living, brother,” Benny smiled, giving him a manly one-armed hug.

  “It’s great to have you back, Dean,” Kevin grinned, and Dean mussed up his hair.

  “You’re _baaaack_ ,” Garth fairly cried, and threw his arms around Dean’s neck, making all of them roll their eyes but laugh nonetheless.

  “Good thing you’re back,” Charlie made a slightly _yeesh_ expression, but her eyes shone with delighted relief. “We were starting to think we might have to get your coffin measurements.”

Dean distributed hugs, accepted punches, and smiled, but then his stomach silenced them all and they dutifully helped him into the kitchen. They crowded around him, all eager to update him on what had happened while he was gone, who had tried to mess with them, the raids they had undertaken. Sam produced a plate heaped high with red meat and carbohydrates and dairy, and crowned it with a second dish of _pie._ Bless the kid. He began shovelling food in his mouth like it was nobody's business, the pack making a ruckus all around him and filling the kitchen with the noise Dean came to appreciate after three days of Michael's palace and cold silence enforced by  _de rigeur_.

Speaking of which.

  “Where’s Castiel?” Dean asked, interrupting Jo’s and Balthazar’s bickering.

They turned silent, ominously so. Dean gave them a look, which they all evaded by finding the ground immensely interesting, until he turned it on Sam. The youngest Winchester rubbed the back of his neck, that Dean knew was his habit when he was awkwardly nervous.

  “Well,” Sam hedged. “You were out for a long time, Dean.”

  “How long is a long time?” Dean demanded. His heart rate picked up, and no matter what, all he could smell was his pack and their nervousness. He willed his beast to _calm down_ , before he did something stupid like attack his own pack members.

  “About three days.”

  “The hell?” Dean shoved away from the table, staring at them incredulously. “Where’s Cas?”

  “That’s the thing,” Sam said, sighing. “He’s here, but he won’t talk to any of us. He’s locked himself up inside his room the whole time.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will get the next chapter up ASAP, and dropping more of your dear, lovely comments will speed up the process. MUCH LOVE. SHARE THE LOVE. SHARE THE DESTIEL.


	11. Be At Ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel sort out their little...lover's tiff?

  “We left him food and water outside his door,” Sam explained as he led Dean down the corridor that made up the passageway through the west wing of the pack house, unease written all over his face. “Most of the time he took it.”

  “Wait, what do you mean ‘most of the time’?” Dean demanded, growing increasingly agitated with every step. _What if he’d starved himself? Or lost his balance from malnourishment and hit his head?_ A million possibilities ran through his head, accompanied by horrific images from his panic-fueled, overactive imagination.

  “Sometimes he leaves out an empty tray,” Sam shrugged, stopping in front of the last door at the end of the hallway. “Sometimes he doesn’t. We tried to convince him to eat more and get him out of the room, but he never responds.”

The first thing that struck Dean as odd was the lack of Castiel’s scent. Omega heats, particularly their first heats, made the Omega emit a smell so tantalizing and powerful that any Lycan with a decent nose would be able to pick up on it from miles away. Now, all Dean could smell was the muted, indistinct scent of what had been the bane of their escape from Eden. It was like it had been masked with a mixture of rotten food and stale piss, but he had to admit, it was a pretty effective measure since his wolf was barely even reacting.

Dean raised a fist and tapped on the door with his knuckles. “Cas—I mean, Castiel?”

Silence, then a muffled thump that was followed by a muffled whimper. Dean’s anxiety soured into alarm.

  “You got the key?” Dean asked Sam, and the youngest Winchester gave him the bitch face, indicating just how much a pain in the ass it would be to have to dig it up. “Fine. Get back.”

Sam complied, taking exactly one step back and grinning at Dean’s exasperated expression. With a sigh, Dean braced himself and kicked down the door in one swift move, causing a huge ruckus of breaking wood and splintered frames. He winced at the mess he left, then gaped at the mess beyond it: trashed food lay everywhere, in varying stages of decomposition, and it was like being smacked in the face with the Devil’s invitation, with his wolf letting out a vehement snarl of acceptance before he could fully process what he was inhaling. There was a human-sized lump on the bed, hidden under a blanket and shaking minutely—Castiel.

Dean gingerly approached it, his wolf fighting his human control because it felt like he was wading through the counterpart of petroleum jelly, only this one was intangible and consisted of Castiel’s tail-end heat-scent. It was overwhelming in its enticing attraction, and Dean had to breathe through his mouth to keep a leash on his wolf.

  “Castiel?” Dean murmured nasally, keeping his nose pinched. The last thing he wanted to do right now was set his wolf off and rape the only Omega he’d ever wanted to make his mate. Yeah, they would really hit it off that way.

The mound trembled fractionally, and Dean carefully peeled back the covers to reveal a very aroused, miserable and most importantly, _naked_ Castiel huddled on the bed. He was curled up in a moist patch of his own sweat, and at his ass was a considerable _lake_ of slick, still flowing despite nearing the end of his heat. The whole sight wasn’t helping Dean keep his wolf in check, and his dick decided right then to be incredibly unhelpful and summon all the blood in his body to itself. Because that was so what he needed: his little brother seeing him with an erection. Great role modelling.

At the exposure, Castiel jerked and peeked up at him, his face flushed and hair sticking up in all directions, sapphire irises obscured by his lust-blown pupils. His lips were dry and chapped, and they let out a weak mewl that had Dean gently cradling him in his arms and barking at Sam for water.

  “Geez, Cas,” Dean sighed, running a hand through Castiel’s sweaty hair, making it spike up in odd angles even more. The Omega shuddered at his touch, burrowing against him before making a tiny jolt of realization. He began attempting to roll away from Dean, body too weakened by his heat and lack of nourishment to put any real strength behind his shoves and movements. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

  “No,” Castiel whimpered. “No. Go ‘way.”

Dean froze, and Castiel managed to shift himself away from the Alpha, giving him a fearful look that told him he was unwelcome anywhere near the Omega. Sam burst back into the room with a tumbler of water, and when Dean made no move to take it from him, he offered it to Castiel. The prince (considering the circumstances of his departure from the Novak palace, he might be a prince-in-exile) accepted it with a mumbled noise of gratitude and began to suck it down greedily, causing him to choke and splutter.

  “Slowly,” Sam stabilized the tumbler in Castiel’s hands as the Omega coughed. “You’re dehydrated. If you drink too fast, you’ll upset your stomach.”

He glanced over at Dean: he was staring at his empty arms that cradled nothing. “Dean?”

His brother gave him look he had never seen before, and Sam took a while to register that it was helplessness. It was so atypical and so out of place a look on his brother, who always knew what to do when no one else did, and never surrendered unless he was turning over in his grave.

  “He—“ Dean swallowed thickly, and with stiff, robotic movements, left the room. Sam stared after him, wondering what the hell was going on, then looked back at Castiel, who was still gulping down water like a dessicated plant.

  “Uh…” Sam prevaricated, not sure how to talk to an Omega, especially a _royal_ Omega. He was aware that Castiel Novak was the youngest brother of his dad’s sworn enemy, and if John Winchester hadn’t been pressured by Dean into letting him go fight for Castiel, the old Alpha would have come down on this like a ton of bricks. “You feeling okay?”

Castiel looked up at him, displaying a pair of unsettlingly blue eyes. “You’re a Beta.”

Sam felt himself raise one eyebrow. “Yes, I am in fact a Beta.”

  “You’re De—his brother.”

  “I am _also_ his brother, yes.”

  “He hates me,” Castiel whispered.

Sam blinked. “What?”

  “He didn’t want me anywhere near him that night,” Castiel covered his face with hands that looked like that had never been touched by the need to fight for a living. “If he hated me so much, why did he fight for me? Why did he mislead me into thinking that he loved me? Giving me the bracelet, writing me that letter…”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam held up his hands in the universal “stop right there” gesture, and chuckled as understanding dawned. “I think this is something you should ask Dean yourself, not me. As far as I’m aware, Dean is head over heels for you. I’m the one who bugged him into telling me who he was so hung up on for years, and I’m the one who told on him to everyone else in the pack. So _everyone_ in this pack knows just how ridiculously crazy Dean is for you. He's been looking for your for almost _nine years_ now, and he said he would die fighting for you. Does that sound like someone who hates you?”

Castiel’s eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t spill over, and his nose wrinkled in doubt. “But he couldn’t even stand to be around me when I needed him the most.”

  “That’s because—“ Sam shook his head, helping the Omega to his feet. “Nope. You’re gonna have to talk to Dean about that yourself. Trust me, he doesn’t hate you. If he did, you wouldn’t be alive right now.”

* * *

Dean gazed down at his arms, elbows on his knees as he took a seat on the porch swing, the old wooden contraption creaking under his weight. The sun was low in the Western sky, and it cast a warm, orange-y light on the land. His pack had eked out a living on it by planting whatever fast-growing produce they could come up with, and raids he’d led into the towns on the outskirts of Eden. His arms bore the testament of years spent fighting for survival, and after the Tournament, they bore the testament that he had earned the right to be Castiel’s mate.

So why wasn’t Castiel in them? Why wasn’t he happy to be with Dean? Had he been wrong about those guileless blue eyes? Was he really just a means to escape Michael’s power-hungry paws?

He wanted to roar down the mountains, overcome with a muddy mix of frustration and sorrow. He thought about letting his wolf take charge, running into the wilderness and getting this funk out of his bones. If Castiel didn’t want him… If Castiel didn’t want him as a mate, Dean could live with that. He could be Castiel’s friend. He could teach Castiel how to survive in the Borderlands, how to be a part of his pack, even if he wasn’t taking up the mantle that Dean had wanted him to assume. He wasn’t going to be like the barbaric, archaic Alphas that he’d challenged in the Tournament, and force Castiel to his will. He was better than that. John had taught him to be better than that.

His mother had taught him to be better than that.

He clenched his fists, and pressed them against his eyes. How had he fucked this up? Sure, the ride had been rough but—

Sam coughed, and Dean looked up to see his little brother supporting a pale, mildly emaciated Castiel onto the porch. The flagging scent of his heat was still pulsating from his small body, and Dean was wary of even looking at him, not wanting a reprisal of the rejection.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk this out,” Dean flinched as Sam helped Castiel onto the porch swing, their legs just a hair’s breadth away from brushing against each other. Dean inwardly regretted not making the porch swing bigger when Jo had pestered him to make it four years ago. Sam paused in the doorway, pointing a finger at them with his eyes narrowed. “I mean it. Talk. Seriously.”

Dean shot him a dirty look, and his little brother shrugged and slipped back inside. He could have sworn he heard the lock being turned. Little shit.

They sat there in silence for what Dean counted to be as long as forty-six beats of his own heart, and he rubbed his face with one hand. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed Castiel staring down at the hands in his lap, wearing a fresh set of clothes and twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. At least they could commiserate on that. He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Do you hate me?” Castiel blurted out, cutting him off abruptly. His fidgeting didn’t stop; it grew worse, and he began to worry his bottom lip with his teeth. He didn’t look up, and kept his gaze trained on the mangled fabric of his shirt.

Dean gaped at him, stunned. Of all the things he’d expected to hear from Castiel, this wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t even remotely close to anything he’d expected. “What?”

  “So you do,” Castiel’s voice cracked, and he lurched to his feet. Weakened by days of eating too little, drinking too little and craving sex too much, he stumbled and would have faceplanted on the front porch if Dean hadn’t grabbed him by the waist. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), Dean was not in great shape either and that meant Castiel tumbling into Dean’s lap. The Omega did not appreciate the assistance, nor the sudden skin contact and close proximity, and struggled ineffectually.

  “Hey, hey!” Dean grabbed ahold of his wrists and tried to calm him down. “Stop that! Listen to me: I don’t hate you!”

Castiel paused, and looked at him properly, eyes the color of the Lake Manitoc in summer and just as watery. “Y-you… you told your pack to keep me away from you. I needed you, but you didn’t want me. How else am I supposd to interpret that?”

Dean realized what he was talking about, and threw his head back as he laughed in realization and exasperation. “That’s what you thought? I was asking them to keep _me_ away from _you_ , because you were in heat. Do you know what your heat smells like?”

Castiel stared at him blankly.

  “It smells like the most amazing thing I have ever come across in my life,” Dean murmured, tightening his grip on the Omega, drawing him closer. The scent of Castiel’s heat was fading now, and his normal scent was coming back. “It smells like the best pie in the world, and warm milk after a nightmare, and it smells like the promise of something amazing.”

The Omega gave him a hesitant look. “So… you really don’t hate me?”

  “If I hadn’t told my pack to keep you away from me,” Dean gently took the younger man’s face in his hands, silently marvelling over the delicate jawline and the hope that lit up his eyes. “I would have raped you, and that would have most likely killed me, considering the circumstances at that point in time.”

  “It wouldn’t have been rape,” Castiel objected. “Not if I wanted you just as badly.”

  “I want us to get to know each other first,” Dean grinned, feeling himself relax as Castiel seemed to get what he was talking about. “I promised myself that if I ever found you, I would never force you into being my mate. And I wanted our first time to be outside of your heat, so you would be able to give proper consent, when you weren’t delirious with it.”

Understanding and gladness warmed Castiel’s face, and Dean leaned closer and closer, until their noses were brushing and their eyes were half-lidded. They could feel each other’s breath on their lips, the yearning to touch implacable.

  “May I?” Dean whispered, his words barely a quiet exhalation, nearly drowned out by the wind sweeping through the porch.

  “You may,” Castiel murmured, and Dean pressed his lips to his in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss that lit sparks behind his close eyelids and made his toes curl. He could feel Dean’s hand cupping the nape of his neck, and snaking around his waist, and where he touched him, Castiel felt warm. Comfortable. Loved. Wanted.

He felt like he was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this wasn't much of a long one, and I'm sorry if their "talking it out" wasn't as...cathartic or dramatic as you'd hoped! I just wanted them to clear up the misunderstanding as smoothly as possible, you know? Thank you for reading, lovelies, and drop a comment if you thought it was alright! Now... on to the next chapter... what's going to happen? (I have no clue)


	12. Meet The Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets acquainted with the pack.

They sat on the porch like that, Castiel in Dean's lap with his arms around him, until the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars came out to play like shimmery little mice in the absence of a giant ginger cat. They shared a few more shy kisses that made Castiel's toes curl, and spoke quietly of their affections for each other. Dean seemed content, relieved even, and when Castiel was talking he absently tracked numerous kisses all over his face and neck. Eventually they had lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching the constellations unveil themselves in the night sky, and were therefore justifiably startled when a bell was struck, shattering the sweet atmosphere they had achieved.

  "Damn it," Dean muttered, getting up and taking Castiel's hand without hesitation, a gesture that inspired a feeling of warmth in Castiel's belly even though he still wasn't entirely used to the intimacy. "That'll be the pack coming in for dinner. We’d better get in there before they eat everything.”

Castiel let Dean lead him into the pack house, and was curious about the fixtures and decor that seemed to have a very personal touch to it all, meant to celebrate and commemorate rather than just be pretty for prettiness' sake. Sloppy child's finger painting artwork, charcoal sketches, and souvenirs from foreign lands seemed to conquer the walls. Dean laughed when Castiel yanked on his hand to pull up short in front of a particularly eye-catching drawing of a young woman with a lovely smile, cradling a swaddled young pup in her arms.

  "That would be my mom," Dean explained, a softness in his eyes that betrayed his careless tone. "And the whelp would be me."

  "It's amazing," Castiel marveled, and he meant it. He had been privy to the works of some of the land's greatest artists as a Prince, but he had never come across such a drawing as this: the subjects' face had been detailed with such carefulness, down to the wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes and the fall of her hair around her shoulders--and every line was imbued with a strong sense of adoration and love.

  "My dad did it," Dean smiled at Castiel's awestruck expression. "He was always good with his hands."

  "Did he do any other sketches?" Castiel asked excitedly, and Dean laughed at his enthusiasm.

  "Maybe after dinner, okay?" Dean tugged on Castiel's hand, grinning at the sigh of the Omega’s lower lip jutting out, and wondering if Castiel even knew that he was actually _pouting_. It was fucking adorable.

They entered the kitchen-cum-dining room, a large, open space furnished with the necessary equipment and accented with bronze and reds. The smell of dinner and the noise of the pack roughhousing filled the air, and upon their entrance, it turned into an awkward silence and the curiosity and concerned wariness permeated the atmosphere. The only Lycan Castiel recognized was Sam, who gave him a conspiratorial wink before getting up from his seat at the breakfast counter and clasping Dean on the shoulder.

  "Did you two talk?" Sam asked, a laugh twinkling in his eyes. Castiel realized that standing next to each other, the two Winchester brothers could not have looked more different: Sam was all gangly and tall and brown floppy hair, while Dean was stocky and muscled with short dirty-blond hair. Sam smelled like old books and sawed timber, and Dean was sun-dried leather and hops. But upon closer inspection, Castiel noticed that both brothers had the same crooked grin, peat-moss eyes and earthy, woodsy undertones in their inherent scents.

  "Yeah, we talked," Dean interlaced his fingers with Castiel's, a gesture that sent a thrill of pleasure through the Omega.

Sam's expression was smug, and he opened his mouth to say something but Dean just as quickly cut him off.

  "If you dare say 'I told you so'," Dean warned. "I will kick your ass so hard, you’ll be shitting all over the woods for a week."

  "Jerk," Sam mumbled, and Castiel's eyes widened at the insult. He cringed, dreading Dean's reaction; Alphas never endured such disrespect, especially not from the younger members of their own pack. Michael had instilled in him as much.

  "Bitch," Dean mussed Sam's hair up, his tone affectionate. Castiel stared at him in surprise and stunned relief. Did he not see tolerance as a sign of weakness, a potential for usurpation?

Dean noticed his expression and grinned. "What?"

  "I--aren't you going to punish him for insulting you?" Castiel whispered, baffled.

  "Of course not!" Dean looked affronted by the very idea. "Look, whatever bullshit Michael brainwashed you with, it doesn't apply here. Everyone in this pack is family, blood or not. We treat each other like equals, and the pack _mostly_ obeys my dad and I, unless they think our orders warrant second-guessing. We don't like the idea of some mindless pack that just follows our lead without initiative, and besides, Alphas don't always have the best ideas. I mean, look at Michael and Zachariah."

Castiel inadvertently let out a small chuckle, and realized that he was _laughing_. Dean had made him laugh, when he'd never had a reason to even _smile_ in almost all his life.

  "Relax," Dean smiled, gently kissing his temple. "Everyone here likes to tease and heckle each other. It's our way of showing our love. Sort of. Now, come on. I gotta introduce you to my dad."

Dean led him towards the screen door at the back of the kitchen, ignoring the curious stares at Castiel from the rest of his pack and the muffled sniggering that made the Omega feel a little uncomfortable, out onto the back porch where three men in their late fifties were sitting at a small round table, nursing bottles of beer.

  "Hey, Dad," Dean lightly drew Castiel to his side, slinging an arm around his shoulders. His arm was solid muscle and bone, and it was protective yet carelessly affectionate gesture that made Castiel want to sing. "This is Castiel."

All three men looked up, effectively ending whatever conversation they'd been carrying on and squinting at Castiel in a speculative way that made him want to squirm. He'd never felt more eager to please than now, to earn the approval of the people Dean seemed to respect most.

  "Castiel Novak, huh?" the man who shared the same undertones in his scent as Dean and Sam finally spoke, his voice gravelly and low with age. "Younger brother of Michael Novak?"

  "Dad--" Dean began wearily, but John Winchester shut him up with a look.

  "Yes, sir," Castiel replied, lifting his chin slightly even though his knees were practically knocking together.

  "You love my boy?"

The question threw him off-guard, and his jaw dropped while he felt a blush climb up the back of his neck into his cheeks.

  "You react like that," John chuckled suddenly, leaning back in his chair. "And I don't need an answer. Welcome to the madhouse, kiddo. Just watch your step. This is Bobby--" the grizzled man wearing a cap nodded "--and Rufus--" a dark-skinned man with a no-nonsense look about him inclined his head “--now go grab some grub before the rest of the pack steals your share."

The two other men seemed to rely on John's judgement of character, and eased up. Rufus gave Castiel a knowing look, and Bobby burped.

  "Well, I guess it's time to get you acquainted with bedlam," Dean nodded at the old men, and steered Castiel back into the house.

Dinner was a rowdy affair, the likes of which Castiel had never seen before and had never expected to enjoy so much. He was introduced to the other members of the pack, all present and speaking with their mouths full and elbows on the table. If his mother or Michael were here, they would have fainted.

  “As you know, this is my nerdy sasquath little brother,” Dean gestured at Sam, who rolled his eyes and slid into a seat at the dining table opposite them.

  “The motormouth is Charlie,” Dean pointed out a striking redhead Beta who seemed to be carrying on a conversation with herself, since no one was able to keep up and had turned their attention to food.

  “Benny” was a thick-set, beefy Beta with a thicker Southern drawl and he referred to everyone as ‘brother’.

  “Kevin” was an unusual-looking boy with dark olive skin and almond-shaped eyes. He looked like he had yet to finish his Shift, and was apparently attempting to speed up the process by wolfing down as much food as possible while reading a thick tome.

  “Garth” was a skinny, lanky Beta with an aptitude for handling pups (by way of a creepy sock puppet, Dean confided) and the demeanor of an overexuberant puppy.

  “Jo” was short for Joanna Beth, a vivacious and blond Omega with a snarky tongue.

  “Balthazar” was an easygoing Beta with a five o’clock shadow, complete with a foreign-sounding accent that Catiel couldn’t place.

  “And that sums up the whelps,” Dean declared, much to Castiel’s amusement as the aforementioned pack members protested their too-short descriptions.

The dining table they surrounded was heaped high with all kinds of food, adhering to no particular theme except one—meat. It was presented in varying methods: in sandwiches, roasted, stewed, fried and grilled. There was so much, it threatened to spill off the table, and that wasn’t even including the side dishes of potatos, salad and corn. Castiel was concerned that they weren’t being practical with the excessive amount of food, but swallowed his skepticism when he was witness to the impressive capabilities of the packs’ mouths. He could and would have kept on watching the spectacle of Jo and Charlie shovelling food into their mouth like it was their last meal, without an ounce of decorum. He had never seen any female do such a thing, and Dean had to nudge him into focussing on his own portion before it vanished from right under his nose. It was strange to eat with his hands, since growing up all he’d ever known was place mats and silverware, but he began to enjoy the sloppiness, particularly when Dean leaned towards him and licked a bit of sauce off his cheek. It was intimate, and Castiel gave him a shy smile.

  “Ellen and Missouri,” Dean continued, inhaling food as he went on with introductions. “Ellen is Jo’s mom and the all-around chef in this place, because she’s the only one who knows how to cook without setting the stove on fire—“ “It was one time!” “—and Missouri is in charge of keeping us in line.”

Castiel gave him an odd look at that, and the mocha-skinned woman sipping tea in the midst of the madness that was the pack’s dinner laughed at his expression. “Oh, honey. I know what you’re thinking. Alphas need taking care of. But my job taking care of Dean is done now that you’re here.”

She punctuated that with a saucy wink, and Castiel blushed.

  “Is this all of your pack?” Castiel asked Dean.

  “Nah,” Dean chewed a piece of chicken thoughtfully. “There’s Pam, our pack healer; and Linda, Kevin’s mom.”

  “Where are they?” Castiel neatly nibbled off a corner of a turkey-on-rye sandwich. “Do they not partake in the meal with the pack?”

  “The older folks generally do their own thing,” Dean shrugged. “Like my dad and Rufus and Bobby. Ellen and Missouri only stick around because someone has to feed us and keep us from having a foodfight. I think Linda went on some kind of hunting trip, and Pam’s out restocking her medicine supply. I really put a dent in it.”

With introductions somewhat completed, the pack began to interrogate Castiel. The fact that he was the youngest brother of Michael Novak was a surprise to some, and Jo seemed not to appreciate that fact, until Dean pointed out Castiel’s discordant relationship with Michael. Castiel had never been subjected to such intense, humorous scrutiny, where the questions were atypical:

  “Do you brush the front of your teeth first?”

  “Cheese or butter on toast?”

  “Beer or wine?”

  “Which foot do you step forward with?”

  “Guitar or piano?”

They seemed like odd questions, but the pack insisted that they were crucial and would identify what kind of person Castiel was, and Dean told him to just go along with “their bullshit”. That earned him a quick scuffle, and though Castiel was apprehensive about the idea of Alphas being disrespected by their own pack, he began to understand and appreciate that this was how their pack interacted and expressed their fondness for oe another. Respect wasn’t confined to silent meals and Alpha’s word being law. It wasn’t meant to be given without question, or used as power. It was earned, and it was given freely. Castiel laughed as he watched Dean noogied Sam and got punched in the shoulder by Jo. The Winchester pack wasn’t as frightening and barbaric as the people of Eden had gossiped; it was a tight-knit family that ignored the lack of blood relations, and they made the packs of Eden look like archaic, stick-in-the-mud louts in comparison.

He spoke to some of the pack members, and discovered that Benny was actually from Clayton, a town in the Southern region of Louisiana and he met Dean when they were both doing raids in Purgatory; Jo utterly  _despised_ Alpha posturing, which was why she enjoyed ribbing Dean to make sure he didn't get a big head; Charlie had done a lot of travelling on her own before she met the Winchester Pack, including to a paradisiacal land named Oz, which Castiel had only ever heard reverent whispering of; Kevin was the third-generation descendant of immigrants from the distant country of Annam, which could only be reached by days of sailing; Garth had the best control over his wolf, as impromptu endurance contests had shown over the years; and Balthazar was a smuggler of rare artefacts that Dean had apprehended and later begrudgingly integrated into his pack, on account of his kleptomaniac tendencies turning out to be very useful.

Once dinner was over and Missouri had yelled at the escaping pack members responsible for cleanup duty that night to get back into the kitchen and wash the dishes, Dean led him on a tour of the pack house. The front door led straight into the living den, where a huge array of leather sofas surrounded a stone fireplace. Aft was the kitchen-dining area, which was the central part of the whole house. The West wing where Castiel had stayed was the smallest wing of the house, comprising of three narrow guest rooms with en-suite bathrooms. The East Wing was the largest by contrast, making up the pack members’ rooms. Each member had their own room, toilet and a little extra space should they ever take a mate. Then the second floor was devoted to the Alphas: Dean and John.

  “Do you want to sleep in your own room?” Dean stood by the doorway as Castiel explored his room, which was half the size of Castiel’s rooms back in the palace. There was a large bed big enough to fit two people comfortably and three not-so-comfortably, plainly made with a maroon bedcover, a settee at its foot and otherwise sparse furnishings. “Or do you mind sharing my room?”

Castiel stopped examining Dean’s collection of small wooden carvings, a blush heating up his face. His eyes widened.

  “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to!” Dean quickly interjected. “I didn’t mean we had to have sex right away or anything!”

His blush only deepened. When he spoke, Dean had to strain to hear it, even with his Lycan hearing.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Castiel whispered, ducking his head shyly.

That night, they curled up around each other on Dean’s bed, sharing warmth and breathing in each other’s scent, familiarizing themselves with it until they were absolutely certain that they could pick one another out in a crowd, or in the forest. They didn’t touch each other sexually, only exchanging innocent kisses and burying their faces in the other’s neck where their scent gland was. Castiel fell asleep with Dean spooning around him, inhaling his scent and feeling safe.

He dreamt of a garden filled with vibrantly-colored flowers, and pups with his dark hair and Dean’s olive-green eyes playing among the blooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick intro chapter to the pack! I've already got the next chapter underway and be assured, it has got FLUFF IN IT.


	13. The Borderlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Castiel on a tour of the pack's territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, to avoid any confusion, I had to change a few facts. There were some inconsistencies when I was writing this chapter, and I had to go back and edit the 3rd chapter, which describes the Borderlands. To clear it up, the Borderlands are basically summer tundras, only with less flowers and more brown-yellow-green grass and rocks. I'm a little out of my depth here, but tundras are basically low-temperatures all year round, with harsh winters and short growing periods. Just to clarify. I know it doesn't sound like the desert I described in chapter 3, but I realised I didn't want to make the pack live in that kind of environment. I mean, tundras are actually hard to live and grow crops in. And I kind of wanted the availability of a forest nearby, so I changed it to a tundra. Just to clarify.

Morning dawned bright and clear in the Borderlands, and dew was still clinging to the ground when Dean roused Castiel from his sleep.

  “Five more minutes,” Castiel groaned, burying his face in the pillow. Which, coincidentally, smelled an awful lot like Dean.

  “C’mon, Cas,” Dean chuckled. “Up and at ‘em.”

  “At what?” Castiel mumbled into his pillow, lethargic and confused by the phrase.

  “It means we’ve got work to do,” Dean murmured huskily, turning Castiel over so he could kiss him.

He licked at the pink slip of Castiel’s mouth and angled his head to slide his tongue between the Omega’s partly-open lips. When he lifted his head, the dark-haired Lycan was wide awake and evidently shocked.

  “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Castiel said, clearly bemused by how Dean could be willing to exchange saliva with him when he had stale morning breath.

  “You still taste like last night’s dinner,” Dean laughed, and nuzzled Castiel’s neck, inhaling the Omega’s soft and sweet scent. It had been an amazing experience waking up to a warm body in his arms and the smell of his childhood love in his nose.

Castiel stiffened fractionally when Dean expressed affection by way of physical contact, unused to the act when all he’d ever known was cold detachment. He relaxed into it after a moment, and though he’d yet to initiate it, but Dean was willing to wait until he knew how.

  “C’mon,” Dean repeated, bouncing the bed like a five-year old on sugar high. Castiel’s half-asleep body bounced along with him, making him groan. “Let’s _goooo…_ ”

  “Are you always this vexatious in the morning?” Castiel grumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes.

  “Wow, big word,” Dean snorted. “Around these parts we just say ‘annoying’.”

Castiel had almost gone back to sleep when Dean decided to resort to extreme measures and hunt down any person’s weakness: their ticklish spots. He grabbed at Castiel’s waist and the Omega’s eyes widened in surprise. Dean dug in his fingers and got to work.

  “Wha—“ Castiel only had one breath to express his shock before screaming with unadulterated laughter, instinctively squirming and giggling madly. His body was alive with a sensation he had never felt before, and for reasons he did not understand, he found it amusing. He couldn’t help laughing uproariously, like a madman.

  “You awake yet?” Dean teased, lifting him upright.

Castiel was gasping for air, stunned. “W-what was that?”

  “You never been tickled before?” Dean frowned. “Man, that’s just _wrong_.”

  “What’s ‘tickle’?” Castiel asked, confused.

  “It…” Dean trailed off, realizing he didn’t know how to define that. “Uh… you might want to find a dictionary. Borrow one from Sam.”

Castiel wasn’t satisfied by the explanation (or lack thereof), but he allowed Dean to get him out of bed and wash up. Breakfast was underway in the kitchen, and it smelled heavenly: juice being squeezed, toast being toasted, and an assortment of flapjacks, bacon and eggs were on the griddle. Castiel had never had anything more fragrant or tasty than oatmeal porridge and tea.

  “What is that?” Castiel asked, pointing at a strip of bacon. “It smells amazing.”

Ellen laughed, then sobered into scandalization when they realized he was serious.

  “It’s bacon,” Dean managed to swallow his mirth, and handed Castiel a piece off the griddle. “It tastes amazing, too. Careful, it’s hot.”

Castiel nearly scalded his tongue, but when he finally managed to get a proper taste of it… it was like greasy euphoria exploding in his mouth. Dean smiled at his reaction, and began to fill up two plates with food. The rest of the pack trickled into the kitchen, yawning and in various states of undress, slumping onto the table and moaning for coffee.

  “Did you two do the hanky-panky last night?” Jo asked, taking a long swig of the dark, aromatic liquid.

Castiel’s brow furrowed, perplexed by the unfamiliar term and Dean coughed into his mug. “No, we didn’t.”

  “Erectile dysfunction already? You’re not even thirty yet, brother,” Benny chuckled. Castiel turned scarlet; he understood _that_ one.

  “Shut up and get your asses moving,” Dean grumbled.

The pack made noises of dissent, but complied, shoving food into their mouth as they had last night but more lethargically. Sam slouched in just as the others were leaving, hair like bird’s nest and dark shadows under his eyes. He slumped over the table, making grabby hands at Dean’s mug.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Dean held it out of his reach. “Get your own, Ginormo.”

  “Good morning to you too, jerk,” Sam groused, but managed to heave himself towards the coffee brewer. “What’re you guys doing today?”

  “Showing Cas the ropes,” Dean stole one of Castiel’s strips of bacon, earning himself a look of unadulterated loathing from the Omega. He had developed an unexpectedly deep fondness for the delicacy. It certainly surpassed anything he’d ever consumed in the palace, and that was saying a lot, since the kitchens were staffed with chefs of great repute. “Tour the land a bit.”

  “Not much to show,” Sam pointed out, stirring sugar into his coffee.

  “Shut your cakehole and gimme a break,” Dean muttered, taking another swig of his coffee. “I just carved my way through like a dozen Alphas and recovered from _wolfsbane_ poisoning. You know, the thing that would kill us if we ‘accidentally’ so much as _touched_ it?”

  “And yet you had the energy to go at it last night?” Sam quirked an eyebrow.

  “We didn’t have sex,” Dean growled. “Quit asking.”

  “Just because you can’t get it up doesn’t mean you have to vent your frustration on the rest of us,” Sam complained, taking a plate piled high with food from a quietly amused Ellen.

  “Why does everyone assume that just because I didn’t have sex, I’ve got a limp dick?” Dean threw his hands up, and Castiel hid his face behind the pile of maple syrup-soaked flapjacks, too embarassed by the conversation. He’d never conversed with anyone over a meal before, and if this was the type of breakfast conversation he would have to deal with for the rest of his life… well, there were worse things. And the bacon certainly made up for it.

  “Because you’ve got the biggest one around,” Sam snorted. “As you’re so fond of declaring.”

  “Shut up, Sammy,” Dean threw a piece of toast at his little brother.

  “No foodfights in my kitchen!” Ellen hollered, turning off the stove and wiping her hands on her apron. “Now get to work before I start swinging.”

  “And she would,” Dean muttered under his breath. He took Castiel’s hand. “C’mon, Cas. Time to skedaddle before the crazy old lady in the apron gets out her frying pan.”

  “What’d you call me?” Ellen yelled as they made a quick break for it, Dean’s manic laughter in his ears and as much bacon as he could manage in his mouth.

* * *

Castiel had not been out of the house since his arrival, and when he’d reached the pack, it had been under the shadow of night. Now, he was getting his first glimpse of the Borderlands under proper light, with the sun high in the sky and the air offering the smallest of winds to ease the midday heat. It was all flatlands of brownish-green grass, some spots more yellow than others, and a range of mountains in the distance. At the foot of the mountains, crawling towards the pack house and ending only a few leagues away, was a dense thicket of forest. Castiel had never seen such open skies, or vast and unpopulated lands without the pollution of smoke and stone houses, with people milling about and deferring to him with distaste in their eyes. Eden was like the antithesis of the Borderlands, and he felt like this place was more fitting for the name of paradise. His wolf yearned to come out and run, to stretch and play and enjoy the freedom.

The first thing Dean showed Castiel was the crop fields. They weren’t by any means big, but to Castiel, they seemed to extend as far as the eye could see. It was about four acres of plowed soil, fertilized with animal crap and whatever forms of plant food they could come up with. Some of the things they fed the soil with included egg shells, compost and ash. At present, Garth and Charlie were sprinkling water onto the crops, still green but soon to ripen and flourish. The sight intrigued Castiel, who asked at least a hundred questions about what kind of crops they managed to cultivate in this climate, and the acidity of the soil, and when was harvest time? Dean had to drag him away from Charlie, who laughed and waved him goodbye, telling him not to let Dean boss him around too much.

A large pond, dug out by the pack a few years ago, was the occasional home of migratory geese and the permanent residence of some ducks. It was bordered with a few rocks, differing in sizes and textures, and Dean told Castiel that when the weather got too hot, the pack would jump in it and scare the living shit out of the birds. They’d tried keeping fish in the pond, but the ducks would just eat them all. So the pack ate the ducks when that happened, and sustained the birds with breadcrumbs and built little hutches for them to roost in when the weather got colder. Castiel was fascinated by the food chain, and even more so with the fluffy yellow ducklings that waddled after a mother duck, making adorable attempts at quacking and trying to shake their not-quite-there-yet tail feathers like their parents.

The pond was just in front of a large, slightly weathered barn, where they kept an assortment of livestock varying in purposes of their rearing. Pigs made curious noises at Castiel from their muddy pens when he passed, and when he asked Dean why their tails were so curly, the Alpha just shrugged and said that they were evil little sons of bitches who spent their time curling their tails like moustaches when no one was looking. It was also what made them so tasty, and Castiel turned fairly green when he realized that his breakfast had come from the otherwise endearingly funny-looking animals. Chickens ran rampant across the yard, squawking in protest when Dean toed them out of the way with his boot, explaining to Castiel how they kept 80% of the eggs laid for food and left about 20% to produce the next generation of chickens. That inspired more questions from Castiel, who asked how the eggs could simultaneously be edible and yet create new chickens. Dean once again told him to go ask Sam, his ears turning slightly pink, and Castiel didn’t think it was from the cold morning air.

Inside the barn, there were more animals, and the stench of manure and a stale odor generally related to horses. In the first few stalls were cows, some with a solid coat and others with spots. They flicked their tails to keep the flies away, and made plaintive ‘moo’ing noises at Dean, who tossed them more hay with a pitchfork to shut them up. He told Castiel that some of the cows were meant for milking, like the white-and-black cow in the back with prominent pink teats named Lucy. He wouldn’t tell Castiel what the other cattle were for, such as the solid black one or the brown one with the white face. Instead, he showed Castiel his beloved ‘Baby’, which triggered a peculiar sensation inside him, like his heart was being pinched. The discomfort eased when he realized that Dean’s ‘Baby’ was huge destrier about 15 hands high, with a solid coat and mane so black it would appear blue under certain light angles. It snorted when Dean approached, pawing the ground tempestuously and tossing its magnificent head.

  “Horses generally don’t react well to Lycans unless they grow up around them,” Dean murmured quietly, so as not to disturb the charger. He ran a gentle, light hand down its neck. “I’ve had Alapmi here since I was a just a whelp, and she was just a foal.”

  “Um, Dean,” Castiel peered around the large horse. “I think Alapmi is a male.”

  “Baby responds better to female terms,” Dean shrugged. “I don’t care either way, so long as she’s happy.”

Alapmi bent its head and peered at Castiel with dark eyes almost the size of his palm, curious about the newcomer and evidently finding his scent non-offensive. Rather, Alapmi seemed to find his scent appealing, nosing at his face and neck, whickering softly.

  “She likes you,” Dean laughed, handing him an apple. “Here, give this to her. It’ll get you in her good books.”

Castiel tentatively proferred the shiny red fruit, and Alapmi inspected it cursorily before taking it delicately out of his hand, chomping with great gusto.

  “The horse Gabriel gave us is over there,” Dean pointed at the stall a little ways off from Alapmi’s.

Now that they were no longer in extreme circumstances of great urgency, Castiel got a proper look at the stallion. It was common bay, with a dark chestnut coat and black mane and tail. It had one white foot, like a sock it had accidentally forgotten to take off. It gave Castiel a soulful look, lying on the floor of its stall with a blanket draped over it and as much food and water as it could want next to its head.

  “It’s Ikol,” Castiel said, surprised. “Gabriels personal horse.”

If Alapmi was Dean’s ‘Baby’, then Ikol was Gabriel’s ‘Infant’, although the bay was anything but childish. He was a thoroughbred, with a calm demeanor and strong heart.

  “Guess we ought to return him, huh?” Dean smiled, and Castiel looked up at him from where he knelt by Ikol’s head, petting the bay carefully.

The implications in that one statement sparked hope in Castiel’s chest. The worry that Gabriel had become a victim of Michael’s wrath had never left his mind, always boiling on the backburner, threatening to spill over. Michael never gave in to his anger, which meant he’d been suppresseing it for a very long time. And like anything and everything else that was suppressed for too long, it would be incendiary upon its release. Gabriel was a Beta; it was unlikely that he could withstand Michael’s wrath when their oldest brother was an Alpha.

  “Gabriel saved our lives,” Dean continued, squatting down on the balls of his feet beside Castiel, smiling at the Omega’s grateful expression. “It would be rude if I didn’t return the favor.”

Castiel nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Dean held out his hand, and without hesitation, Castiel took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! This was just a quick intro to the Borderlands (I know it sounds fantastic now, but imagine the difficulty the pack would have had adapting to a place where the growing periods for crops are too short for their usual fare, and having to fend off the animals from the forest that had already established their territory when the pack fled there, and trying to establish constancy). Next chapter will be a little bit more plot! Look forward to it! 
> 
> Note: If I made any inconsistencies or inaccuracies, do let me know. Thanks to Jessi for pointing out the not-so-nice term I used in Chapter 12 and helping me change it!


	14. Find Your Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel learns how to be a part of the pack, and just how much he likes having Dean around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be a short one again, folks! This one is devoted to Cas finding his place in the pack!

After the barn was sufficiently explored (Castiel spent twenty minutes discovering a swing that was hung from the roof of the building, and Dean had to wheedle him off it), Dean led him to a shack behind the pack house. It was where they fixed and made things, from carts to wheels to tables and chairs. John and Bobby were there, nailing down parts of what was the beginnings of a wheelbarrow. The air inside smelled of timber, with a strong tang of polished metal from the tools. Benny was smoothing a plank with piece of sandpaper, and Jo was under a broken supply wagon.

  “This is where most of our stuff comes from,” Dean gestured vaguely around the worshop. “Shelves, beams, bedframes… you name it.”

Castiel ran a hand over an almost-finished dresser, complete with drawers. All it needed now was paint, and Castiel wondered what color it would turn out to be. Given the dark color scheme of the pack house, it should be a lively color, like sunflower yellow or poppy red.

  “Wanna try your hand at it, pup?” Bobby held out a hammer, and Dean shrugged when Castiel looked at him, as if asking for permission.

  “What do I do with it?” Castiel took the hammer, staring at it in curious wonder. He’d seen the tool before, of course. Being raised in a palace did not make him ignorant to the sight of construction and how it was done.

  “You hit the nail here with the flat end,” Bobby said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, disbelief written on his face. “This the first time you ever held a hammer?”

Castiel nodded, still staring at the hammer, fascinated by its weight. The heaviest thing he’d ever held was a book, and even then it was nothing compared to the solidness of this tool. The implications that it was actually a tool that had been in the making of the pieces of house, that it bore a usefulness made Castiel feel like he was holding something of great import.

  “Here, lemme show you how it works,” Dean took the hammer from Castiel and aiming very carefully, gave a series of hard whacks at a nail half-embedded in the wood. Castiel watched in amazement as the nail’s sharp end disappeared into the wood, and all that was left visible was the flat head of it.

  “I wish to try,” Castiel reached for the hammer, and Dean laughed.

To his credit, he did _try._ Unfortunately, he seemed to lack the dexterity for it, and wound up striking his thumb and other extremities rather than the nail itself. He was stubborn though, and Dean had to drag him away from trying “one more time”.

  “We’ve established that you’re not cut out for woodwork,” Dean declared, taking him towards the house. “Let’s see what you can do without hurting yourself.”

Garth and Charlie tried to teach Castiel how to take care of the young plants in the field, but he was promptly told to hold off on doing anything in the fields until harvesttime when he wound up trampling some of the snow peas and cutting the lettuce leaves too short. Dean just looked on in barely-suppressed amusement, telling him not to take it to heart. Castiel wasn’t sure how Dean’s past failures like drowning the turnips was supposed to make him feel better, but he understood that it was the Alpha’s way of comforting him, and he accepted it gratefully nonetheless. It was refreshing change from the cold shoulders and spiteful berating he usually received when he made a mistake.

The next trial was in the kitchen, and Ellen banished both of them when Dean stole half of the apple pie she had cooling on the windowsill and Castiel mistook the sugar for salt, effectively turning the pot roast she had going for lunch into a dessert. Dean had laughed too hard in Castiel’s opinion, and fully deserved the smack to the back of his head from Ellen.

  “Okay, one last stop before I sign you up for hunting lessons with Rufus,” Dean guided him down into the basement. “I sure as heck hope Pam is back.”

A striking dark-haired Beta female looked up as they entered, and smiled in their general direction. The basement was strangely unlit, with the Lycan grinding herbs in the dark. Castiel could smell milk thistle and feverfew most prominently among the muted scent of at least a hundred other herbs, and it was probably the herbs that were in under the pestle.

  “Cas, meet Pamela Barnes,” Dean smiled. “Pam here has been our pack healer for years.”

  “And it shows,” Pamela cackled, getting up slowly, As she approached, her steps measured and gait oddly stiff, Castiel realized that she was blind: there was a milky white layer over her eyes, and that was probably why she’d been working in the dark—she didn’t need the lights.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Dean snorted. “Anyway, I brought Cas down here to see if you could teach him a few things, maybe take him under your wing as an apprentice?”

  “Could always use a pair of eyes around here,” Pamela smiled. “Your brother had a big head to store all the info, but bigger hands that broke a whole shelf of my glass jars. Perky ass didn’t make up for the loss of a whole month’s worth of herb-hunting.”

  “Quit it with the groping,” Dean grumbled. “That’s my baby bro you’re talking about.”

  “That the thanks I receive for saving your ass?” Pam folded her arms across her chest, raising one eyebrow.

  “Ugh, just don’t sexually harass my ma—I mean, Castiel,” Dean huffed, sitting back in a chair to make sure Pam didn’t actually take a blind shot (no pun intended) at Castiel’s ass (he had first dibs).

Pamela turned to look at Castiel; or more specifically, look in his general direction. “Cas, huh?”

  “Castiel, actually.”

  “Sorry, but ‘Castiel’ was a mouthful,” Dean piped up from the corner.

  “Better get used to it, sweetcheeks,” Pamela chuckled. “No one escapes the nicknaming. Everyone has one—sometimes I don’t even remember my full name is Pamela unless someone else mentions it. Just call me Pam, and I’ll call you Cas, yeah?”

  “Um, okay?” Castiel felt like he was in the face of a hurricane, but it didn’t feel all that bad. It was like being integrated into a pack, being a part of it rather than a spectator on the outside looking in.

  “Come here,” Pamela took his hand, and he was surprised by the number of calluses and scars there were on it. “Let me run you through the basics…”

Two hours later, Dean was snoring in his chair, and Castiel was pounding some roasted dandelion root into a fine powder while Pamela provided instructions.

  “That’s good,” Pam said approvingly. “Now we’re going to keep it in a nice, dry jar so when one of the old boys get a little heavy with the beer, we got this on hand.”

  “ ‘treats liver, kidney and spleen problems’,” Castiel recited, pouring the powder into a jar.

  “Attaboy,” Pam grinned. “You’ll make a fine pack healer. So wanna take on the hardship of being my apprentice? I won’t go soft on you just ‘cause you’re the big Alpha’s sweetheart!”

Castiel was overcome with a sense of pride and delight: he’d spent most of his life being indoctrinated with the idea that all he was good for was to be a trophy mate, a broodmare and nothing more. He had a purpose beyond being a mere Omega, a sextoy, a childbearer. He didn’t have a green thumb, but he had a red thumb from poor carpentry skills or lack thereof in entirety, and he was underfoot in the kitchen—but he could contribute. Pamela had said as much, and he wanted to help. He wanted to be a part of this pack, to be a part of this family that in the span of two days had shown him what being a family really meant even without the bonds of blood, when Castiel’s blood family had spent eighteen years showing him how badly one’s own kith and kin could treat each other.

  “Yes,” Castiel said, smiling and meaning it. 

* * *

  “Pack healer, huh?” Sam said thoughtfully, chewing his salad.

  “Yep,” Dean said, and Castiel’s heart warmed at the pride in Dean’s voice.

  “Sounds cool,” Sam remarked, and he frowned. “Did she grab your ass, too?”

Castiel felt the mirth bubbling up in him and set it free in the form of a quiet laugh. “No, she didn’t.”

  “For a blind lady, she really knows where to grab,” Dean muttered, tearing off a hunk of meat. He turned to Castiel, brow furrowing. “You okay if I leave you to spend the afternoon with her?”

  “What? Why?” Castiel hadn’t realized how attached he’d come to be to Dean. The Alpha pheromones might have been a big factor, but there was also something about his constant presence being very comforting in general.

  “For one thing,” Dean smiled, understanding his sudden anxiety. “I can’t sit around all day watching you and Pam in the basement doing your witch-doctor thing. Plus, Jo needs my help fixing the supply wagon before our next run.”

The uncomfortable feeling that his heart was being pinched started up again at the mention of the blonde Omega, and it must have shown on Castiel’s face because Dean leaned over and fastened a kiss to his forehead.

  “Jo’s like a bratty little sister,” Dean murmured under his breath, lips hovering over Castiel’s skin. “A know-it-all, I’m-better-than-you-and-I-can-prove-it, bratty little sister. Trust me, the world could be ending, and I still wouldn’t look at her the way I look at you.”

Castiel was confused by what that last phrase meant: the way Dean looked at him? He hadn’t noticed anything special about the way he was looked at. He squinted at Dean, trying to analyze his facial expression, and the Alpha laughed.

  “Just have fun with Pam, okay?” Dean kissed his cheek, and headed out the door with Ellen yelling at him to tuck in his chair. “I’ll see you later at dinner!”

Castiel sat at the dining table, bewildered and at a loss until Sam noticed his perplexity and gently directed him to Pam.

He spent the rest of the afternoon under Pam’s guidance: boiling, baking, mashing, pounding, dicing and filtering. At one point, Bobby came in and asked for the very dandelion tea that Castiel had made earlier that morning, and was surprised and pleased to hear from Pamela that it was him who had made it.

  “Good on you, pup,” Bobby chuckled, giving him a pat on the back. It was a gesture Castiel was not familiar with, but it made him happy for some reason.

The hours flew by, and Castiel had memorized all the herbs available in the pack’s territory by the time the dinner bell rang. Pamela was showing him how to extract the oil from flaxseeds when Dean entered the basement, footsteps heavy on the stairs and smelling like sawdust and the outside. His face was ruddy with exertion, and his shirt was stained with sweat, but Castiel didn’t care. He didn’t know where the surge of affection or need for intimacy came from, but he was throwing himself across the room and into Dean’s arms before he could even comprehend what was doing. Dean was just as surprised by the sudden display of affection, but he recovered quickly and hugged Castiel back tightly, kissing his hair.

  “Missed me, huh?” Dean laughed, and Castiel just buried his face in Dean’s scent gland, not caring that it was covered in a layer of perspiration.

  “Get out of here or let me join in the fun,” Pamela called out, grinning.

  “Getting,” Dean snorted, carrying a still-tightly-clinging Castiel upstairs.


	15. The Learning Curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel learns many more things, and one of them is to trust Dean... at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut for all you hopeful smut-lovers out there. At least... not YET.

Growing up as a Prince, Castiel’s life had been strictly controlled by his mother and a small legion of governesses. The harsh austerity was only amplified upon his presentation as an Omega, and Castiel’s daily schedule was monitored down to the very breaths he drew and the seconds of his toilet breaks. There was never a time in his waking hours when he wasn’t being watched by a detached, frigid tutress paid by his mother to ensure he didn’t take a step out of her finely drawn line.

With the Winchester pack, the closest thing they had to ‘routine’ was the cleanup duty roster. Being an Omega prince did not excuse him, and neither did... Missouri had trailed off with an amused expression aimed at something over Castiel’s shoulder, then shook her head in exasperation before continuing to explain that everyone did cleanup duty at least once every two weeks. Even Dean had his own timeslot on Monday afternoons. Missouri allocated Thursday dinner cleanup to him, and penciled it in on the timetable by the backdoor. While it would have sounded burdensome to anyone else, Castiel found it pleasing. It was proof that he was now a part of the pack, not just a guest of Dean’s that everyone was hosting out of basic respect for their Alpha.

Dean told him he was free to organize his own life now, and that had been strange yet liberating. He only had one condition: Castiel was to spend at least two hours everyday with Rufus, learning how to fight. The news that he was not allowed outside of the pack house without someone accompanying him had been met with disappointment, which swiftly turned into disbelief when that rule would change once he had learned how to adequately defend himself from a threat. He had never been given the chance to learn how to fight, since his presentation as an Omega had deemed him incapable of it in the eyes of his mother and Michael. He’d been told that it was his role to bear children, and his Alpha’s to defend and fight. It had rankled, watching Michael and his brothers spar in the courtyard with swords and claws while he had to learn how to wrestle a needle through cloth. At Dean’s offer, Castiel fairly _pounced_ at the opportunity to defy the caste Michael and his mother had so inflexibly caged him in. So every morning, Castiel would spend two hours under Rufus’ gruff tutelage, learning how to fight with opposable thumbs and without. The aged Beta had been somewhat horrified to learn that Castiel had never let his wolf out on a regular basis, and that his transition took so long to complete itself. With the aid of a few scarecrows Dean declared was “fugly”, Rufus taught Castiel how to feint, lunge, claw and tear out the throats of any creature that walked on two feet. He told Castiel that the biggest foe that the pack had ever faced, excluding the obvious of other Lycans, was a bear. Bears generally didn’t bother them unless they strayed too close to their den, and were bad-tempered if they were just out of hibernation, and worse when they had cubs nearby.

He even got to spar with some of the ther pack members: Garth turned out to be a bit clumsy on his paws, but he possessed unorthodox moves that had Castiel on his back staring up at the sky, utterly shocked, in just a few of them; Benny was a frighteningly large wolf for a Beta, and had a very intimidating set of fangs that had Castiel instictively hightailing it; Jo was quick to strike and hard to catch, a blonde streak of fur that just whizzed past him. The other pack members often ditched work to cheer him on, take bets, offer advice and just generally slack off. It was hard, having to let his instincts guide him as Rufus had instructed, rather than suppress them as he’d been wont to do for so many years. It was grimy, because he took multiple rolls in the dirt. It was fun, because he’d never felt so liberated in his life.

When he asked Dean to spar with him, the Alpha just laughed and said he didn’t trust himself to fight Castiel without doing something foolish, which only confused him. He was debating whether to prod Dean further, an act that had never really been an option left open to him in a household where Alphas reigned unquestioned and unchallenged, when Jo did the job for him, if rather crudely.

  “What, scared you’ll end up fucking him into the ground?” Jo teased, sweeping her long blond hair into a ponytail. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring out the puffed buckwheat and rate you.”

Castiel’s face turned a bright shade of scarlet, and it wasn’t because of the exertion. Dean groaned and flipped Jo off.

  “Cranky,” Charlie sing-songed, having joined the audience with a woven basket under her arm. “Maybe a good round’ll put you in a better mood.”

  “Why does everyone have to give their damn two cents worth about my sex life?” Dean grumbled, and Castiel let out a laugh at the novel sight of an Alpha pouting petulantly.

  “Because it doesn’t exist,” John answered, taking a swig of his ale. “Gonna give me any grandpups soon?”

Castiel froze, feeling the high of his freedom dissolve into numbness. He’d forgotten his place as an Omega. He was supposed to bear pups, not bear arms. He looked down at his bare feet, bitterly accepting that his moment of emancipation was over, and for his Alpha to take him back inside the pack house. What of his pack healer apprenticeship with Pamela? Would they at least allow him that much?

  “Geez, Dad,” Dean scowled. “We’ll give you them when we’re ready. Besides, what’s the rush?”

  “I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you two,” John pointed out mildly.

  “You would be sticking around a lot longer if you eased up on the alcohol,” Sam muttered.

That started a round of bickering among the pack members about the benefits and drawbacks of alcohol, effectively changing the topic and diverting the attention away from Castiel.

He shuddered with relief, still not brave enough to lift his gaze from his feet until he felt Dean’s warm, sinewy arm around his shoulders. The Alpha’s scent was calming, but the concern that he was overstepping his bounds or behaving in an unacceptable way was still there.

  “Relax,” Dean kissed his temple. “Nobody’s going to force anything on you. We’ll cross that bridge when you’re ready, okay?”

Castiel nodded mutely, struggling to quell the urge to cry tears of gratitude. Dean had been kind, benevolent, protective and had not forced anything on him. He had given Castiel his freedom, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from the Omega.

* * *

 

A week passed, and Castiel had mostly settled into his life at the Winchester’s. He continued training under Rufus and apprenticed with Pamela everyday. He didn’t have a fixed schedule, which turned out to be slightly daunting for someone who had _breathed_ a schedule for eighteen years of his life, and wandered around in search of things to do while his Alpha worked out back. Sam turned out to have amassed a considerable amount of books in his room, enough to constitute a small library, and Castiel spent a good number of hours in the Beta’s company, reading and discussing a wide range of topics that had them both overexcited by the time someone came looking for them.

He tried his hand at growing herbs in little pots, and with the generous help of Garth and Charlie, managed to make a small, fledgling garden of both medicinal plants and flowers. He took notes on how to regulate the acidity of the soil, on how much water to give, and the right amount of sunlight exposure each one needed. He wound up having to defer to Garth and Charlie’s expertise most of the time, running up to them like a panicked mother with an ailing child in his hands, at least twice a day.

He learned how to sleep near and wake up to a warm body beside his, more often than not with Dean curled around him in an unconscious gesture of protectiveness. It was unnerving at first, but he grew to crave and find comfort in Dean’s scent and his furnace-like body heat. His body was a solid rock that Castiel clung to in the turbulent waves of his subconscious, plagued by nightmares of Michael’s wrath and the thousand outcomes that Gabriel might have faced. Sometimes he woke up gasping, and Dean would be there to lull him back into slumber with whispered soothing and promises of everything being okay. The third night Castiel woke up shouting for Gabriel, Dean sent Balthazar to Eden for news of Gabriel and the aftermath of their escape from Michael’s clutches. Castiel felt guilty for making Balthazar go to such lengths just to ease his own anxiety, but the Lycan reassured him that he wouldn’t mind going back into town to pick up a few…supplies and get the pack out of his fur for a while. Dean also helped to ease his guilt by kissing it away and telling him that Balthazar’s reconaissance wasn’t just to dispel Castiel’s worries, but to investigate the stability of the kingdom and to see if there were any chinks in Michael’s armor. Castiel hadn’t understood, but Dean just smiled enigmatically.

By the end of the week, Rufus had deemed Castiel capable of defending himself against a threat, or as capable as a Lycan who had just finished his shift, which put him on par with Kevin. The younger Lycan was nearing the end of his adolescence, but had yet to present. His mother Linda, a fairly fiersome woman Castiel found to be an adequate rival to Naomi’s iciness, had hopes that her son would present as an Alpha, to which everyone rolled their eyes and placed bets on everything else but.

The end of the week also meant something special: the full moon. The pack let out their wolves regularly enough, going for hunting trips when the livestock wasn’t sufficient. The full moon was meant for clearing their heads, letting off steam. Castiel had never gone for a full moon run, though he’d seen his brothers and their soldiers take plenty of them. It had been assumed that since Castiel was an Omega, he didn’t need to go for the run. Some traditionalists would even say that Omegas tainted the sacredness of the full moon run.

But the Winchester pack held no such scruples, and Castiel was an automatic invitee of the run. He hesitated, and Dean misunderstood it as fear.

  “Hey, hey,” Dean took both his hands in his much larger, more calloused ones. Castiel had developed blisters on his palm from hours of using the pestle and mortar, but that didn’t seem to repel the Alpha. Rather, it endeared him to Dean in a weird way. “Don’t be scared. The pack will keep an eye out for you in case you get lost, and Rufus says you’re pretty good at holding your own now, so I wouldn’t worry about you getting into a scuffle with a bear cub.”

  “It’s…it’s not that,” Castiel said haltingly, unsure if he should share the information with Dean. What if he agreed with Michael’s sentiment? The two were like ice and fire, but even opposites shared certain qualities. “Michael never let me join the full moon run. He said Omegas… didn’t need to.”

Dean was silent for far too long, and Castiel began to bite his lower lip in dread.

  “Wow,” Dean said at long last. “It must have been crazy hard on you. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I deprived Jo of the full moon runs. She’d have ripped my spine out and beat my ass with it by now.”

Castiel grinned shakily, still hardly able to believe his good luck in having Dean as a… now that he thought about it, what was his relationship with Dean? Sure, they exchanged acts of intimate affection like kissing and hugging, with Castiel growing slightly bolder each day, initiating shy pecks on Dean’s cheek and eager hugs when they saw each other after spending hours apart. But Dean had never referred to him as his mate, and neither had the rest of the pack, except for crude remarks about sexual intercourse and the possibility of pups in the near future. But even then, no one had explicitly defined their relationship as mates. They slept together in the same bed, certainly, but Dean never went beyond spooning around him, and kissing his nightmares away.

As he followed Dean out into the back yard, where the rest of the pack were impatiently waiting for their Alpha to lead the run, he contemplated it with great solemnity. Did he love Dean? Was he willing to… Castiel gulped nervously at the idea of having Dean between his legs, and found that instead of feeling his stomach sinking, there was a warmth curling in his gut that was not unpleasant at all. That answered _that_. What about pups? Would things change if he pupped? Would Dean strip him of his freedom in his Alpha mindset once Castiel officially became his mate rather than just a pack member he was close to? He shivered, and it wasn’t because he was cold.

Dean proclaimed the commencement of the full moon run, and the pack howled joyfully. Within seconds, everyone had shed their clothes and transitioned into thick-furred wolves of varying sizes and colors. They sniffed each other inquisitively, as if to reestablish pack scents, then waited for their Alpha and Castiel to join them. Dean gave him a patient smile, and Castiel realized he was waiting for him to change. Nervous at the idea of stripping naked in front of other people, Castiel peeled of his clothes slowly until all he was wearing was Dean’s necklace and bracelet, but the latter had to go into safekeeping. He let his wolf come out, human body receding to give way to Stygian black fur, four legs, a tail and a muzzle. He looked up at Dean, whining.

Dean yanked off his garments, and when Castiel blinked, there was a large, dun-colored wolf with laughing viridescent eyes. Dean’s wolf was _huge_ ; Michael’s size paled in comparison to his—where Michael had been the size of two poster beds, Dean was at least one and half times his size. Castiel had only seen it once, on the field when he killed Zachariah with bloodthirsty viciousness. He hadn’t realized just how _enormous_ Dean’s wolf was, and he was about to instinctively grovel when the Alpha bent his large head down to nuzzle Castiel, tongue lolling out comically. Castiel arched up into the Alpha’s ministrations, letting out a low purr of contentment, until one of the pack members made a hacking noise.

Slightly disgruntled by the interruption, Dean barked a sharp command for the pack not to stray too far from each other, and took off at a brisk pace, and Castiel fell into stride, brimming with anticipation. The forest edge grew closer, and before long, Castiel was weaving between tree trunks, letting his wolf guide him, footfalls of the pack echoing in his ears as they roamed the forest. Dean glanced back at him, and Castiel caught the wicked, playful glint in his eyes before the Alpha poured on the speed and barked mischevously. Castiel was startled, but his wolf reared its head in retaliation, and then he was quickening his pace. He ran side by side with Dean, who made to nip lightly at his shoulder, barking his laughter. The fear that Dean, an Alpha, would not look kindly on his puckish action of not running behind him dissipated, and with it was every other fear Castiel had harbored in the deep recesses of his heart.

He could trust Dean. He would, and he _did_. Irrevocably. Completely. Utterly.

Dean, who had given him his freedom in choosing his own path. Who had provided solace and comfort when he needed it most, but never pressured him for more. Who never forced anything on him, despite how hard it must have been to control himself around Castiel, especially when he’d been in heat and they were in such close proximity. Who valued Castiel more than he valued himself.

He would give Dean everything.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! I was trying to ease Castiel into it... rather than him just saying yes to Dean out of the blue. Like having the whole issue about his place as an Omega and not being sure he could trust Dean to suddenly take everything away and behave like the Alphas he's grown up knowing.


	16. Lay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean seal the bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: crappily-written smut. I am appropriately ashamed of myself.

The full moon was a silver disc floating in the night sky, and it bathed the forest in a soft glow. Dean felt its power humming in his veins, like liquid electricity, lighting his body up with an energy that needed an outlet. The full moon run was always one way to go about it, taking long, wild strides into the forest, feeling the exhilaration of the energy being discharged. Running with the pack provided a sense of like-mindedness, of _esprit de corps._

Running with Cas was something else entirely. He could feel the Omega’s presence like a glowing lodestone in his mind, and the desire to envelope Castiel with his own body was intense. The number of times he’d had to share the shower with his right hand and cross his legs to hide his overenthusiastic libido only skyrocketed with each passing day. Worse still were the mornings when he woke up to find Castiel grinding his ass back on Dean’s semi-erection _in his fucking sleep_. Those had made for some awkward emergency trips to the bathroom before the sun had even fully risen.

He played it cool, not mentioning Castiel’s unconscious seduction and keeping their contact to virginal kisses and hugs. His patience and self-restraint was paying off, little by little, with Castiel throwing himself at Dean at the end of the day and willingly snuggling up against him before falling asleep. It was progress, albeit damned slow, because instead of satisfying him it only aroused him more and frustrated him. The urge to canvas Castiel’s skin and memorize every inch of him inside and out was overwhelming, and the discipline that had been drilled into his spine was weakening everyday in the face of Castiel’s peaches and cream skin, his cerulean eyes, his sweet scent. He wanted to lay Castiel out on the bed and take him unhurriedly, loving him gently as he deserved to be loved. He wanted to push Castiel up against the wall and fuck his brains out.

So when he felt Castiel rubbing up against his side when they slowed to a halt by a shallow stream, it took all of his willpower not to tackle the Omega to the ground and start mounting him.

Castiel pressed against Dean’s body and lifted those bright blue eyes to his, letting out a soft, pleading whine. Dean nosed the spot behind Castiel’s ears, panting quietly, wondering what he wanted. The Omega revelled in his touch, and nuzzling back against the Alpha for more. Dean was happy to comply and provide Castiel with all the affection he wanted, even if his wolf’s dick was beginning to grow a mind of its own and swelling of its own volition. So long as he kept it hidden, Castiel shouldn’t—

The smaller, coal-black wolf hesitantly rolled on his back and shyly exposed his belly, paws in the air, continuing to whine beseechingly. Dean felt his mouth go _very_ dry, and his dick decided to conquer his brain and render it void of any conscious thought. Castiel was _presenting_ to him, and Dean wasn’t sure if he was aware of it. He didn’t want to make the mistake of misunderstanding, and doing something that would turn Castiel against him.

 _Castiel?_ Dean gently pressed the question against Castiel’s mind, unsure if he should even bring it up lest the Omega get embarassed. _Are you sure you want me to…?_

There was a bright flash of shame and self-consciousness, quickly followed by numbing self-recimination. Castiel quickly rolled back onto his paws, and began to retreat back into the forest.

 _I…I just thought…_ Castiel looked anywhere but at Dean, his head low to the ground in humiliation, and very nearly stumbling over his own paws moving backwards.

Dean immediately moved forward, and Castiel cringed as the Alpha wolf towered over him.

 _I just thought you wanted me,_ Castiel’s thoughts were a fragile whisper. _As much as I wanted you._

There was a groaning noise, and Dean realized it had come from him. He lowered his head and licked the side of Castiel’s muzzle, startling the Omega.

 _Cas, you’re insane if you think I don’t want you_ , Dean continued to lick Castiel’s face with his rough tongue. _Remember the talk we had the day you came out of your heat?_

Castiel seemed to remember, and understanding dawned. _Oh_.

 _Yeah,_ Dean nosed at his throat. _I said I needed you to be okay with it._

 _I am!_ Castiel pushed back against Dean’s muzzle eagerly. _I’m okay with it!_

Dean closed his eyes and inhaled Castiel’s scent, which was beginning to sweeten and flourish. _You’re absolutely sure._

 _I’m absolutely, definitely and incredibly sure_ , Castiel gave Dean’s muzzle a tentative lick, blue eyes shining with a mixture of want and gratefulness. _You’ve given me so much, everything I could possibly want. Now let me return the favor._

 _It’s not an obligation,_ Dean stiffened. _I don’t want you to think that you have to repay me. I just wanted you to be happy._

 _Me giving you_ me, _and you accepting me, will make me happy_ , Castiel was beginning to get frustrated, and may or may not have been unconsciously starting to give off “fuck me” pheromones.

Dean groaned again. _If I hurt you… if you want me to stop, just tell me. I’ll stop. I don’t want you to get hurt._

 _You won’t hurt me_ , Castiel reassured him, licking his muzzle once more. _I trust you._

Dean shifted back to his human form, and held out his hand. Castiel stared up at him, confused, but did the same.

  “I figured our first time should be done face to face,” Dean whispered, burying his face in Castiel’s hair. “Can’t do that with our wolves.”

He felt rather than saw Castiel’s skin heat up, and when he drew back, the Omega had gone very pink. When Dean began to lick his scent gland at the spot where his neck sloped down to meet his shoulder in preparation for the bond bite, his eyes began to darken with want, and his body writhed with a yearning to be touched _more_. Castiel gave a tiny lap at Dean’s scent gland, and was startled by the Alpha’s moan of pleasure, but emboldened to keep at it.

The Alpha laid Castiel down on the grass, naked bodies silhouetted by the full moon and the only other sound besides their heavy breaths was the whisper of the wind through the trees and the splashing of the stream. Dean’s body was like a furnace, all heat and musky Alpha pheromones that were triggering a slow leak of slick from Castiel’s hole and spurring him into whimpering. Dean lifted his head from Castiel’s neck, and the Omega was startled to see that his pupils were blown completely with lust. He yelped when Dean slid his hands down the length of his body and used them to push his knees apart, spreading his legs and baring his leaking entrance to the Alpha. Castiel had imagined this scenario a hundred times, but in a different setting, under different circumstances, with a different Alpha. He had never imagined that he would want any of it unfolding, but with Dean kneeling between his legs and lowering his head to sniff at his slicked hole, he shivered with excitement. He wanted this, so badly.

Dean let out a growl, and licked at Castiel’s wet hole experimentally. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt, and his spine arched sharply and his breath escaped his lungs in a scream.

  “Wh-what—“

Dean growled again, placing his hands on Castiel’s hips and pinning him to the ground. He prodded at Castiel’s hole again with his tongue, more sure this time, and tasted his slick. Whatever it tasted like, Dean _liked_ it, because he was licking harder and before long, he had his tongue _inside_ Castiel, and the Omega was bucking and writhing in a a state of maddened pleasure. Dean’s tongue was working its way inside him, and the alien sensation was driving Castiel closer to the edge. It was like there was nothing but heady, electric pleasure in his his veins, and he was left wanting more when Dean withdrew his tongue and inspected Castiel’s engorged, small cock. He regarded it for a tense moment, while Castiel mewled for his Alpha to _do something_. He unthinkingly begged for Dean to enter him, to knot him. The need was not quite as intense as it had been during his heat, but it was all he could think about, the remnants of pleasure from Dean rimming him with his tongue still lighting sparks inside his body.

Dean gave a cursory lick to his cock, and Castiel keened. He seemed to enjoy the noises Castiel made, and he swallowed the Omega’s diminuitive cock in his mouth and gave a solid _suck_. Castiel wailed, hands scrabbling for purchase and heat curling in his gut. Dean’s tongue found the slit at the head of his cock, and then Castiel was shooting his impotent cum down Dean’s throat. His chest heaved as Dean swallowed, and lifted his head to smile down at the spent Omega.

  “Still wanna keep going?” Dean teased, voice thick and gravelly.

Castiel stared up at him, mind floating in a haze of sensual gratification. “Was that supposed to be a deterrent?”

Dean barked a throaty laugh. “Just a peek at my sexual prowess.”

Castiel’s lips curved into an impish smile. “Not particularly impressive, from what I’ve witnessed.”

Dean was stunned by the Omega’s playfulness; the Castiel he knew was reserved, shy and painfully so. He’d opened up a bit more with small acts of intimacy, but to such an extent… it was refreshing. He grinned and licked the side of Castiel’s face.

  “Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” Dean whispered, kissing Castiel’s scent gland. “I’ll stop right away.”

  “It’s because you say things like that, that I know you won’t hurt me,” Castiel answered, burying his face in Dean’s hair and breathing in his musky scent, luxuriating in it and body brimming with anticipation. There was a small, underlying tang of fear, because he’d read that an Omegas first time was never pleasant, but he trusted Dean.

Dean’s fingers were pressing against his wet entrance, and his breath hitched in his throat as he felt him lining his cock up with it. It was hot, and even the head felt huge. He’d gotten a peek at it when Dean had stripped to transition into his wolf, but even flaccid it had been frighteningly large. The fear bloomed, icy and making him freeze up, but then Dean was soothing it away with quiet reassurances that they would stop whenever he wanted. He _trusted_ Dean. Dean wasn’t going to hurt him. He never would.

  “Do it,” Castiel whispered, before he lost his nerve.

Dean slid in slowly, and Castiel gasped as he was stretched around velvet-sheathed iron. It didn’t hurt, nor did it feel nice. It was just… strange. He bit his lip, but Dean was parting his lips and putting his fingers in his mouth.

  “Don’t chew off your own lip, Cas,” Dean sounded out of breath, eyes wide with a sort of euphoria. His body was strung tight and trembling with the effort of self-restraint over Castiel’s. “Breathe.”

Castiel did as he said, inhaling shakily. It eased the odd feeling some, and then Dean was inching inside him, filling him deeper and deeper. By the time Dean had bottomed out against Castiel’s ass, the Omega was gulping air like a fish out of water, nails digging into Dean’s shoulders. He felt like he was being stretched out, and his walls were hugging Dean’s ginormous cock eagerly, tightly. The Alpha groaned, struggling to stay still against the instinct-driven behest of his wolf. Dean let Castiel get used to it first, his body rigid and eyes frantic with a need to thrust deeper into the Omega, to bring them both to the height of pleasure. He told Castiel to keep breathing, to pace it, and to make it more bearable, he licked his scent gland.

Then Castiel was filled with a burning itch inside, and he was wriggling under Dean.

  “Move, _please!_ ” Castiel whimpered.

Dean inhaled sharply, and pulling out the tiniest bit, slammed back inside Castiel and touched the soft, spongy spot where his prostrate was. Castiel fairly howled, and this seemed to motivate Dean into going harder, faster. He was thrusting against that spot over and over, reducing Castiel into a quivering, moaning mess of overstimulation. Castiel clung to him like he was being tossed about at sea, and Dean was his solid rock. The Alpha’s mouth was sealed over his scent gland, muffling his growls and groans of pleasure. Castiel’s body was like a vice around his cock, accomodating and delighting, and his legs had wrapped around Dean’s waist to keep him closer. They were being pushed towards the edge, slowly losing themselves in the electrifying and heady pleasure. Yet even then, both of their need only grew.

  “Knot me, Dean!” Castiel cried out when he realized what he was missing, eyes completely eclipsed by his pupils and wolf starting to show in his elongating canines in preparation for the bond bite.

Dean’s knot began to swell at the base of his cock, and was striking Castiel’s rim with every thrust of his hips. He gazed down at the Omega, consciousness arguing against his wolf.

  “You’re sure?” Dean’s voice was so soft, Castiel almost didn’t hear it over their labored breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin.

  “I’m sure,” Castiel's answer was choked by overwhelming need, and then Dean’s knot was being pushed inside him, stretching and plugging and filling. It was the last straw; Castiel came with a shout, pushed into the abyss of climax and his hole fairly threatening to squeeze Dean’s dick off. The Alpha let out a long, chilling howl, releasing his hot seed inside the Omega in a thick river, before clamping his jaws around Castiel’s scent gland and sinking his canines into it just as Castiel bit his.

The rush of bliss and ecstasy that came with the bond bite being sealed was overwhelming and satisfying, as was Dean’s knot encased inside Castiel’s hole. Both of them lay on the grass, still tied together and trying to catch their breath. Dean’s cock was still releasing his seed into Castiel, but slowing to a small trickle. It was a funny sensation for Castiel, Dean’s cum being spilled inside him and filling him up with possibilities, but it was one that satisfied his wolf into stilness. Their mouths were slightly bloody, but curved in rapturous grins.

  “You’re mine,” Castiel marvelled, lifting a weak hand and ghosting his fingers lightly across _his_ Alpha’s face, tracing his jawline and revelling in the fact that it all belonged to him.

He never thought he would ever say that to an Alpha, at least not willingly. But here he was, tied with Dean and filled with a happiness that made him want to cry. And he did—he shed the first tears in years, and they were in joy. No tears had ever been sweeter.

Dean, propped up on his elbows on either side of Castiel, lowered his head and sealed his mouth in a sweet, open-mouthed kiss. His face was alight with a smile of epic proportions when they broke apart, and the sight of it thrilled Castiel.

  “And you’re mine,” Dean whispered, kissing Castiel once more, lacing their fingers together while the full moon looked on benevolently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't bother commenting. I'm already hating myself. I shouldn't even have tried, but I had to.


	17. Take My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean, now bonded, continue on their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes to all you sweet, lovely, dear souls who gave me such great moral support and encouragement when I was worried about my last chapter being shite. This goes out kanoitrace, QueenMilo, lizerd70, natashawitch, Kmb4r, Casatuma, ArianaFeileacan, Destielismymoonlight (nice username ;) ), Emily, impala wings, Jessi (to whom I am still grateful for the debacle in the 'Meet the Pack' chapter), Fifi and LoryLily! (if I missed anyone I am genuinely sorry do let me know and I will add you!) I don't know how to do the underscore tagging thing so yep.

It took a while for Dean’s knot to subside, but in that time they had climaxed again and whispered vows under the moon, who presided over their mating. Their bond was newly-formed, but it was strong and shared, not just a one-way link that bound the Omega to the Alpha only. Most Alphas, particularly noble Alphas who could afford to keep a harem, refused to let their Omegas give them the bond bite—it rendered them incapable of seeking out other Omegas, for their desire to stay by their mates would be like an iron fetter. They would bite their Omegas, however, with a hypocritical belief that their Omegas should stay faithful to them. Castiel had feared having an Alpha like that, who would force a bond bite on him that would make him unable to leave, yet refuse Castiel’s bite in favor of adultery.

Now, Dean was as bound to him as Castiel was bound to Dean. It was more than he’d ever dared to hope for.

  “I can tell you’re happy,” Dean murmured, trailing a line of kisses down Castiel’s jaw to his neck, sounding amazed by their newly-made bond. “Or am I interpreting it wrongly?”

Castiel smiled, framing Dean’s face with his hands and marvelling over every line, every freckle, every scar. “No, you’re not.”

Their moment of bliss was interrupted by a howl that pierced the tranquility of the night, echoed by more. Dean sighed, clearly exasperated by the interruption, and Castiel was just as disappointed. Getting up meant getting separated, and Dean’s cock was flaccid enough that he could slip free without much difficulty. The sensation was still stimulating enough that Castiel shuddered, and it was only heightened further by the dribble of Dean’s cum escaping his hole. He tried to stand up, but discovered that his legs were too weakened by their…vigorous exercise to support his weight. He stared at them, confused by their refusal to cooperate, even though they were an extension of himself.

Dean laughed at his predicament, and solved it by scooping the Omega into his arms. “Do you think you can hold on to me if I carry you on my wolf’s back?”

Castiel flushed, slightly embarassed by his helplessness and also somewhat jealous of the fact that Dean seemed to suffer no repercussions from their coupling. The Alpha smiled faintly, as if he could tell what Castiel was thinking. Although, given their shared bond, it was highly likely that he very well could.

  “You’re pouting,” was Dean’s chuckled response to Castiel’s influx of emotions before he transitioned into his wolf, Castiel clinging to his back. Dean’s fur was softer than it looked, and though it could use some grooming, it was not bristly at all. Castiel’s fingers threaded through his coat, unworking some tangles at the same time, eliciting a rumble of pleasure from Dean, his large torso vibrating under Castiel. Dean began to run, and Castiel had to lean down close to him to avoid getting smacked in the face by low-lying branches. He ended up burying his face in Dean’s fur, enjoying _his_ Alpha’s scent, and how he could distinguish his own scent intermingled with it. Dean’s body was moving like a poetry of limbs, rhythmic and steady, pulsating with life and vigor. It was reassuring, and Castiel closed his eyes to fully appreciate it, while the wind carded through his hair and Dean’s body countered the chilly night air with its natural heat.

 _You okay?_ Dean asked, noting Castiel’s silence and hoping it wasn’t anything portentous.

  “I’m okay,” Castiel snuggled against Dean’s back, feeling the Alpha’s body moving under him. To back up the statement, he projected his peaceful contentment, and Dean’s apprehension was assuaged.

The howling grew louder as Dean and Castiel neared the pack, where they had grouped together in a small clearing, rambunctiously roughousing as they awaited their Alpha. Castiel easily recognized most of the wolves, particularly those he had sparred against when he was being trained by Rufus. The rest he recognized by scent.

John, a brownish-black wolf almost comparable to Dean in size, except his posture was much more relaxed and less imposing due to his retirement from being pack Alpha, was resting on the edge of the clearing with the other older pack members. Bobby was a salt-and-pepper wolf with sharp gray eyes that didn’t miss a thing, while Rufus was a highly-amused gray wolf with ears flicking errantly as he observed the younger member’s mock-fights (no doubt passing silent criticsm over their moves, Castiel thought wryly). Ellen, a flaxen-furred wolf like her daughter except with a grayer hue from age, was taking it easy as well, resting her head on her front paws while Missouri, a taupe wolf, was trying to wrangle the pack into behaving. There was an unfamiliar wolf that Castiel promptly placed as Linda, Kevin’s mom, hovering near the young Lycan protectively. They both shared the same inherent scent traits, as family did.

Dean and Castiel’s arrival prompted all-too-brief silence, which was just as quickly broken by ecstatic cheering. The pack members all tried to convey their delight at their bonding, which was more overwhelming than gratifying because it felt like Castiel’s brain was colliding with a herd of wild beasts. Noting the discomfort, the pack shifted into human form and what was previously a mental barrage turned into an audible bombardment. Slaps on the back, punches on the shoulder and hugs were meted out, and the air was filled with excitement. Not that a pack of Lycans on a full moon needed any more stimulation.

  “This calls for a par- _tay!”_ Charlie hollered. “Break out the ale!”

  “Looks like you’re not impotent after all, Dean!” Sam laughed, earning himself a punch from a now-human, scowling Dean.

  “Finally,” Bobby huffed. “Took you two long enough to get around to it, idjits.”

The hubbub eventually died down when John stepped forth, everyone awaiting the former Alpha’s verdict. The oldest Winchester might have taken a backseat when his son came of age, but that didn’t make him any less imposing or influential. With a single word, John Winchester could force them apart and exile Castiel from the pack. But there was nothing but a huge smile on the old Alpha’s weathered face as he came forward and hugged them both.

  “Ugh, Dad,” Dean griped, clearly not one for sentimental father-son moments. “Can’t breathe.”

  “I wish your mother was here to celebrate with us,” John mumbled, both sad and happy, and tears in his voice. That startled Castiel, because he’d been raised under the impression that Alphas were emotionally invincible when it came to the matter of shedding tears. But whatever the case, John’s words had a great impact on Dean, who hugged his father back and murmured his agreement into his shoulder. Castiel did not know much about John’s wife, Sam and Dean’s mother, but he knew that her demise had not been a kind one, and it had been the fault of his oldest brother. Sometimes he felt vicariously guilty on behalf of his brother, but when he brought it up with Dean and wondered if John blamed him as a proxy for Michael, Dean had just rolled his eyes and told him to “quit talking bullshit”.

They broke apart with a manly slap on each other’s shoulders, while Dean wrapped one arm around Castiel’s. Both their eyes were shining with unshed tears, but their emotions were clearly written on their faces. The pack stayed a moment silent longer than Castiel gave their patience credit for, but the tender moment was soon over when Garth sneezed, naked human body too skinny to defend itself against the night chill.

  “Back to the pack house!” Dean declared, while the pack let out whoops of delight. “It’s time we deplete my dad’s alcohol supply and save his liver!”

That warranted John’s smack on the back of his head, and then Castiel was sitting astride Dean’s wolf once more, leading the pack back to the house. The house was warm and their clothes were quickly donned as the younger pack members eagerly went down into the alcohol cellars to dig up the special-occasion liquor. Castiel was surprised to see an unopened bottle of a three decades old spiced wine, and John smiled at his expression.

  “I was saving it for the boys’ mating,” John chuckled as he explained. “Didn’t matter if they were born Alpha, Omega or Beta. So long as they were happy, I would break it out for their mating celebration, whoever did it first.”

The old Alpha uncorked the dusty bottle, and poured it into a goblet, handing it to Castiel and Dean to share. Dean insisted Castiel take the first sip before he took his share.

  “It’s lovely,” Castiel rolled the flavor around on his tongue before swallowing, utterly honest. Even the hundreds-of-years-old spiced wine that had been a proposal gift in what now felt like another life had not tasted this spectacular. The old Alpha grinned.

  “It’s from the Southern regions,” John showed them the worn label with its fading words of a foreign language on it. “I was on a trip in one of the more tribal areas, helping out some of the folks there, and they gave me this in thanks. They said it would make whoever drank it healthier and happier.”

There was an innuendo in there somewhere that went over Castiel’s slightly fuzzy head: it was the accumulation of the day’s events, coupled with the heady and undiluted spiced wine that had him swaying lightly on his feet. But Dean seemed to get it though, and he rolled his eyes at his father.

  “That won’t be happening anytime soon, Dad,” Dean grumbled, taking another indelicate swig of the wine. “Don’t rush us.”

  “Can’t help it if I’m impatient to have a little grandpup on my knee before you’re growing gray hair and I’m already in my grave,” John shrugged, but smiled fondly. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Dean squinted at him. “That really you talking?”

The old Alpha rolled his eyes. Castiel began to find the lights of the cellar fascinatingly bright, which was Dean’s cue to escort him up to their room and get him ready to sleep. The pack protested at having half their reason to party go to bed so early when the night was still young and the ale was still cold, but by the time Dean had walked Castiel up to the ground floor, he was almost asleep on his feet. He picked the dozing Omega up in his arms and carried him to bed, sliding the covers over him and smoothing the wild hair out of his forehead so he could kiss it.

  “Goodnight, Cas,” Dean whispered against the warm, smooth skin of _his mate’s_ forehead. “I love you.”

* * *

After the full moon, Castiel seemed more sure of himself, and was much more bold about initiating affectionate acts. He no longer stiffened when Dean touched him, and would even openly revel in it. Dean would sneak up behind him after spending hours apart, and wrap his arms around Castiel’s waist and bury his nose in the bond bite. Castiel would lean back against him, turning his head slightly so as to kiss Dean’s hair. Most of these times, the Omega was in the basement with Pamela, experimenting with new concoctions and restocking the depleted supplies. The blind Lycan would laugh gleefully and tease them about having a _ménage à trois_ , getting them both flustered and beating a quick retreat out of there.

Pamela had actually offered a tea brew that would help improve Castiel’s fertility outside of his heat, increasing his chances of getting pupped, but after some discussion with Dean, they decided to wait until his heat came before making any solid conclusions about whether they wanted pups or not. Dean told Castiel it was entirely the Omega’s prerogative; he wouldn’t dispute Castiel’s decision if he didn’t want pups, but when asked, the Alpha smiled and said that yes, he would very much like pups. He then went on to warn Castiel not to take his feelings on the matter into account when making the final choice, because he didn’t want Castiel to get pregnant because he felt _obliged_ to.

Either way, they spent every night with their bodies joined together, moving in tandem like they had been lovers in another life, and Castiel sometimes fancied that they were. Dean would lead him to the peak of pleasure, and then they would spiral into its depths together, entwined and locked together by his knot. They would exchange snippets of their lives before having met each other, and Castiel often had to calm Dean down when he shared how his life had been in the hands of Naomi and Michael. He vowed revenge on Castiel’s behalf, but honestly, the Omega was just glad he was far, far away from his oldest brother, even if he couldn’t say the same for Gabriel. There was still no word from Balthazar, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad omen. Just because he was happy now didn’t mean that he had forgotten the brother that had saved him from Michael; rather, the anxiety and fear that Gabriel met with misfortune was always present, like some kind of pot on the stove you kept an eye on lest it boil over. Sensing his distress, Dean’s mood would take a one-eighty and he would try to kiss or tickle the worry lines out of Castiel’s face. Some nights, in their post-coital haze, they would transition into their wolves and start grooming each other, using their teeth to comb out snarls and tangles. It might sound utilitarian, but for their wolves, it was as much an act of intimacy as their human hugs and kisses. It was a show of care and affection, a desire for the other’s wellbeing and welfare.

The quality of his life with Dean and the pack was almost dreamlike. Everyone respected him and treated him equally, cutting him no slack just because he was their Alpha’s mate and an Omega. Neither did they didn’t try to force any traditional beliefs about Omegas and their purported roles on him, nor did they seem to even carry them. Rufus continued to give him the occasional lesson to keep him sharp, while since the all-clear had been permitted, Pamela began taking him out to the forests and taught him where to find all kinds of herbs with just his nose alone. Bobby taught him how to do basic wood-carving, and though he wound up frequently nicking his fingers and staining the wood with blood, it was useful for making wooden mixing bowls. Sam offered to bring him on his trips to nearby towns to borrow and buy books, or to grab a bit of whatever news was floating around from Eden. No one seemed to bear the notion that Omegas should be kept like sex slaves, or to wait at their Alphas beck and call. Ellen had actually confided in him that she was only slightly worried that Jo, as an Omega, was too headstrong to ever find a mate and settle down—as a mother, her first priority was her daughter’s happiness. If Jo was happy being single and unmated, then Ellen was onboard with that.

A month passed before Castiel realized it, and when the time came for his heat, he spent the week leading up to it trying to come to a decision that he wouldn’t regret. As it turned out, the choice was taken from him, when he found himself kneeling before the porcelain toilet bowl, emptying the contents of his stomach into its recesses, one morning three days before his heat. He brushed it off as a stomach bug, and took some peppermint tea to ward off the nausea that accompanied the vomiting. The red flag was raised when the expected first day of his heat came and passed without even a hint of arousal beyond the usual order of things. Dean made love to him that night without realizing anything out of the ordinary, not keeping track of his heat like Castiel did because he believed the Omega would warn him in advance because of their discussion regarding pups. Then a week passed without any sign of his heat on the horizon, and panicking with the misconception that he was now barren, he went to find Pamela.

Because of her blindness, her sense of smell was much more acute than the average Lycan. She often said it was how she navigated without upending furniture, and it was like her substitute for her lost sight. Castiel had not entered the basement since the supposed first day of his heat came, but upon his entrance, Pamela lifted her head sharply and took a deep whiff.

  “That was quick,” she chuckled, and must have smelled Castiel’s confusion because she sobered swiftly. “You can’t tell?”

  “Tell what?” Castiel asked, frightened by the possibility that he was barren and unable to bear Dean’s offspring. He was defective goods. No Alpha in his right mind would continue to keep him as a mate. Dean might go out and find another Omega to carry his pups and ensure his line was continued. Castiel’s only consolation was that Dean bore his bond bite, and it would be hard for the Alpha to leave him.

  “Oh, honey,” Pamela murmured, taking his hands in hers. She smelled like the herbs she spent hours among. “You’re pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a quick jump from first time sex to having pups, but I kind of wanted the romantic notion that their bond was strong enough for Cas to have a pup outside of a heat.
> 
> NOW: VOTING TIME!! The next chapter will have good news (which is Cas getting pregnant and the relevant details and aftermath of the discovery) and bad news (no spoilers, lovelies). Drop a comment in my inbox telling me if you want bad news first or good news first. MAJORITY WINS AND I'LL START WRITING BY 2PM (UTC+08:00) TODAY (9 OCTOBER), which means yes I'm posting this at 1.45am in the morning my time.


	18. Farewell to Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel discovers that he's carrying Dean's pup, and Balthazar returns with news of Eden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vote was 12-14 for bad news first, 4 for good news first, and 1 for both at the same time. So, here goes: bad news first.
> 
> BY THE WAY: there seems to have been a misunderstanding when I saw 'bad news first or good news first'-- each 'news' is one chapter. So, this is the chapter entirely devoted to bad news. There is no good news at the end. Only in the next chapter. TEEHEE.
> 
> WARNINGS: discussions of abortion.

Castiel wasn’t sure he was breathing. Or even functioning. The only reason why he hadn’t collapsed on the floor and started hyperventilating was because Pamela had insisted he sit down and take a sniff of her calming salts, and the word ‘pregnant’ was flying around in his head like some demonic, possessed rubber ball. It ricocheted off the walls of his mind, sounding all the alarms that his body was now host to something foreign, something not entirely _him_. A wave of nausea stirred in his gut, and he had to grab a random empty bucket before he retched all over the floor. The stink of his own vomit only induced him to gag, and tears stung his eyes reflexively.

  “Breathe through your nose,” Pamela soothed, rubbing his back. “Come on, Cas. Keep breathing. In, out, in, out.”

It took the better part of an hour for Castiel to calm down, but in that time he had fully emptied the contents of his guts, along with some digestive acids that had stung his throat on its way out, and needed to inhale more of Pamela’s calming salts. It was fortunate that Dean was preoccupied; when Castiel had come down to look for some more peppermint tea or even a bit of the rare imported mashed ginger drink that Pamela kept only for emergencies, the Alpha had still been deeply asleep. He’d been staying out back later and later recently, dealing with pack business that started to involve more politics than usual, most of which just flew over Castiel’s head since he’d been more distracted by his own worrying situation.

  “B-but how?” Castiel wiped his tearing eyes with the back of one hand as Pamela gave him more peppermint tea. The fragrance was clean and sweet, alleviating some of his distress as he sipped it.

Pamela moved about her worktables, mashing small pieces of ginger for Castiel and heating more water for his tea. Her demeanor was eerily calm for someone who had just announced the first pregnancy of the pack’s Alpha’s mate.

  “Judging from your state, I’d say you’re about two or three weeks along,” Pamela gauged the level of water in the kettle with her fingers before setting on top of burner. “Lycan pregnancies last longer than regular wolf gestation periods, but shorter than humans. Typically, it would take about 30 to 32 weeks before you reach full term. It’s actually pretty early for you to be showing any signs of having pupped, but it’s not unusual.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” Castiel wrung his hands, frustrated and perplexed. His mind was a mess of fear and panic, and he was still trying to wrap it around the fact that he was with _pup_. There was a little sentient being inside him, a mix of Dean and himself. “I haven’t even gone into heat yet!”

  “Then it means that your bond was strong enough to influence your body into believing that it was ready for the next step,” Pamela poured more hot water into his cup. “Pupping outside of a heat isn’t impossible. It’s rare, but not impossible. For one thing, I know when Dean’s mother had him outside of a heat. Not sure about Sam, though. Besides, you guys have been having plenty of sex, haven't you? That makes it even less impossible.”

Castiel took a hasty gulp of his tea and practically scalded his tongue. “But—“

  “That’s enough ‘buts’ from you, cutie,” Pamela chided, gazing in his general direction, hands on her hips. “Look, I know you’re scared shitless and you probably didn’t even want pups yet. Or ever. But that fact is, you’re already with pup. None of your logical reasoning about why you shouldn’t be is going to change that. The only thing left to do is decide: are you going to keep it or not? I can help you if you don’t want it just yet, but as pack healer it is also part of my duty to remind you that you should discuss it with Dean first.”

Castiel was flummoxed; his mind hadn’t even caught up to the idea that he was carrying Dean’s child. The pack’s next generation. It frightened him, having to be responsible for another life, having to house it with his body. It would force him to undergo changes, most of which he wasn’t sure would be pleasant at all, and warp his body into something… not him. He bit his lower lip. He had only just been made a part of this pack, only just started getting used to being Dean’s mate. And now he had to deal with this? He wasn’t ready.

But in the midst of his internal terror and panic, a faint memory flittered across the periphery of his consciousness: the dream he’d had that first night he’d shared a bed with Dean. Of a beautiful garden and pups running around in it, with his and Dean’s features combined. The Omega in him yearned for the dream to be a reality, while his human consciousness was still warring with his wolf’s natural instinct to protect the life that had started growing inside him.

And what about Dean? Dean had said he wanted pups, but this soon? He told Castiel that it was the Omega’s body that would bear the burden, and therefore it was his right to ultimately decide whether or not he wanted pups. His internal conflict had him withdrawing into himself, oblivious to Pamela’s presence as she patiently awaited his verdict.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eon of arguing with the different facets of himself, he came to a conclusion. He was still nervous, and uncertain that it was one he could stick by, but it was the right one. At least in his opinion. He opened his mouth to tell Pamela what it was, but then he was interrupted by the frantic ringing of the bell in the kitchen. It was normally reserved for announcing lunch and dinner being served, occasionally to wake up the more stubborn members of the pack, but it was never rung this frenetically, like a madman was striking it with a hysterical fervor. That could only mean one thing: pack emergency.

Pamela and Castiel raced up the stairs to the kitchen, where the pack had already assembled, most of them just as confused and curious as Castiel was. Dean caught sight of him, and weaved through the crowd to pull him up against his side and press a kiss to his crown.

  “What’s this all about?” Castiel whispered, sensing the tense atmosphere. “Dean?”

  “Balthazar’s back,” was all he said, and Castiel’s heart leaped in his chest. News about Gabriel!

  “Where is he?” Castiel asked eagerly, clutching at Dean’s shirt. But his Alpha just shook his head.

  “Pamela!” Ellen hollered. “We need you over here!”

The blind Lycan navigated her way towards the other woman where she knelt by couch in the living den. Castiel peered around Benny to get a look, and gasped in horror.

Balthazar was lying on the couch, his body a bloody, filthy mess and his arm resting at a chillingly unnatural angle. His chest was rising and falling in short, irregular intervals, and he seemed to be biting back the urge to scream in pain. Pamela settled beside him, and brushed her fingers over his body with a light touch to examine the extent of his injuries.

  “Cas, come here,” Pamela instructed.

Dean let his arm drop to his side so as to let Castiel hurry over. Whatever internal conflict regarding his own predicament that had gripped his mind had lost its thrall and in its place was all business and efficiency and worry for Balthazar.

  “Tell me your diagnosis,” Pamela murmured, fingers fluttering over Balthazar’s forehead.

Castiel gently examined Balthazar’s arm, and assessed his wounds. “Multiple lacerations that are already healing, no attention necessary. Arm broken in two places. Deep wound over forehead that will require stitches if it shows no sign of clotting over in the next half an hour. Suffering from dehydration and overexertion; several indications of blunt force trauma to head and chest. No signs of internal bleeding, but there are large contusions on abdomen.”

  “Very good,” Pamela said approvingly. “Do you know what to do?”

Castiel hesitated. “Horsetail to stop the bleeding, purple coneflower or calendula to treat the open wound. Sterilized needle and thread for stitches only if absolutely necessary. Reset the bone and apply splint to prevent wrong healing, and use elderberry and ice for the swelling. Bed rest and plenty of water for at least…the next two days?”

  “Just one,” Pamela corrected, grinning in the general direction of Balthazar’s scowl. “Balzy here is a tough cookie.”

  “That,” Balthazar ground out, clearly enduring extra pain just to retain his usual snarkiness. “is a terrible nickname.”

  “Be quiet and let Cas do his work, Balzy,” Pamela smirked.

Castiel fetched the necessary supplies and quick went to work, opening jars, boiling the needle, apply pastes and preparing gauze bandages. He was so focussed on his task of helping Balthazar that the presence of the pack hovering close behind him, their worry and their anxiety, just faded into a distant background. Even his own crisis was forgotten in the face of Balthazar’s.

To his credit, the Beta didn’t even so much as let out a hiss of pain when Castiel scrubbed his forehead gash clean with a towel or when he had to break his arm _again_ because it was starting to heal at the wrong angle. He did wince and flinch, but nothing otherwise. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the ceiling, and at intervals exhaled heavily like he’d been holding his breath. Someone, Castiel was too concentrated on his duty to even notice, gave Balthazar small sips of water every now and then. Pamela gave quiet suggestions about how Castiel should apply the herbs, and pretty soon, Balthazar looked almost back to normal, if battered and exhausted.

  “Is he okay?” Dean asked, and Castiel almost dropped the jar of calendula. He’d forgotten that the pack was just behind him. “Is he still in pain?”

  “It still bloody hurts, if that’s what you’re asking,” Balthazar drawled, obviously much more comfortable than before. “Thank you, Castiel.”

Castiel ducked his head shyly, and Pamela winked in his direction. Dean kissed his cheek and whispered his thanks before sitting on the coffee table near Balthazar’s head. Other members of the pack commended him in their own ways, with hugs and pats on the shoulder and mussing up his hair.

Then the atmosphere was fraught with tension and unease once more when Dean asked Balthazar about what had happened to him, and the situation in Eden. Castiel twisted the hem of his shirt with his fingers, which were still stained with the herbs and bits of Balthazar’s blood, anxiously awaiting Balthazar’s report.

  “It’s not good,” Balthazar said grimly, and he hacked violently until someone gave him some more water. When he spoke again, his voice was much more rough and gravelly. “I stayed on the outskirts of the main city for a while, picking up whatever intel I could from the inns, taverns, markets…but they all said the same thing, that his Royal Bastard Michael had not been seen since the Tournament. So I went deeper, and tried to chat up some of the palace maids—Benny, I can hear you trying not to laugh, so shut up—they didn’t want to talk about it at first, and said I had no business asking about the affairs of the palace when I was just a simple traveller. I kept it up for a couple of days, tried getting them to open up with pillow talk, but still got nowhere. Their mouths are certainly tighter than their—“ here Dean coughed pointedly “—right, as I was saying… I loitered outside the palace for a while, and then I overheard one of the palace guards saying something to another guard about ‘dungeon duty’. Sounds an awful lot like one of Charlie’s fantasy novels, doesn’t it? Anyway, I followed the guard to a tavern, offered him a drink and then got him absolutely drunk. He told me all sorts of things then—at knifepoint, of course. He said Gabriel was being held in the dungeons for treason, and Michael was trying to recover the damages from Cassie here’s escape with Dean, and making lots of friends with the other nobles. At that point he started crying about his low pay and I got annoyed, so I cut his throat to stop him from ever talking again.”

Castiel had gone very cold. “Gabriel is in the _dungeons?”_

  “Mm,” Balthazar nodded weakly. “Lovely chap, your brother. We got on like two houses on fire.”

  “Wait, you _saw_ Gabriel?” Dean demanded, utterly stunned.

  “I didn’t just see him,” Balthazar smirked. “I spent a couple of hours in his company. I stole the guard’s uniform and then snuck into the dungeons to see if I could break him out, because I knew that would make Cassie very happy. And if Cassie is happy, Dean is happy, and he gets off my back about work.”

  “Someone remind me to punch him for that logic later,” Jo muttered under her breath. “It just irritates me somehow.”

  “Gabriel had a message for you, Castiel darling,” Balthazar continued like Jo hadn’t said anything at all.

  “What?” Castiel felt like his knees weren’t going to keep him standing for much longer.

  “He said to stay far, far away,” Balthazar said grimly, now addressing he entire pack. “Before he got thrown in there by Michael, his brother very angrily gave away his plans in one of those hateful, villlainous monologues. Michael was planning to capture you again, and physically break your bond with Dean should you already have sealed it by killing him. He was going to give you to Earl Metatron of Olani county in exchange for access to the shipping port. He was going to invade the Borderlands to accomplish that.”

The silence that filled the room was thick and suffocating with the realization that a war had been literally _declared_ (or implied, given Michael’s lack of advance notice) on the Winchester pack. Castiel was somewhat aware that it was not the first time conflict had erupted between the two, as there was already bad blood simmering when Dean met Michael at his presentation ceremony. During the times when they had shared bits about themselves with each other in private moments, Dean had told Castiel about the reason behind the pack’s move to the less-friendly Borderlands and its unfamiliar terrain. Castiel was overcome with shame on his oldest brother’s behalf, since it was apparent that Michael knew no such thing. He’d driven the Winchester pack from their ancestral homelands, all for their natural resources, fertile soil and trade routes. In return, John had caused minor skirmishes on the borders of Eden, raiding the smaller towns that were supposedly under Michael’s jurisdiction and leaving a message with annoyed townsfolk to grandly say ‘fuck you’. Or at least, that was what Dean said. Castiel probed Dean a little more, recalling how Michael had mentioned in his fit of anger that it was not the first time Dean had slighted him, and it sounded much more personal than stealing land or supplies. Reluctantly and very succinctly, Dean related the story of how he’d made the Omega noblewoman Michael had been courting for her father’s wealth and political ties fall for himself with a bit of roguish wooing. She had been fascinated with Dean, and slept with him. Upon discovering that she was no longer chaste, her father had been ashamed and furious because she’d been a guest at Michael’s palace and was therefore supposed to have been under his supervision—he withdrew all talks of negotiations and took his daughter back to their country, cutting off all ties with Michael.

The idea of Dean sharing a bed with another woman gave him that weird, pinched feeling in his chest, but it eased somewhat with the knowledge that Dean cared nothing for her, since his expression and feelings when he spoke of the incident was of absolute indifference and just a bit of smugness about undermining Michael’s plans.

Which brought them back to the present.

  “What are we going to do now?” Jo asked, folding her arms across her chest as she awaited the pack Alpha’s call. She looked ready for a fight, and practically raring for it, too. Her eagerness to fight made her a very unusual Omega, but then again, she’d been raised in an unusual environment compared to Castiel’s.

  “Take the fight to him before it comes to us,” Dean spoke grimly at great length, brows furrowed and jaw set in determination. His eyes had gone hard, and he’d unknowingly reached out to take Castiel’s hand in his deliberation.

Castiel squeezed his hand back, and his mind was a flurry of _anxiety-fretful-fear-anger_. He was worried for Gabriel and for the pack, afraid of the very idea of Michael killing Dean, breaking his bond and packing him off to yet another traditionalist Alpha. But he was also very angry at Michael for even thinking up such a plan, for making a prisoner of his own brother, and for robbing the Winchester pack of so much, yet not being satisfied. And in the tornado of his thoughts and emotions, there was a pressing issue at the back of his mind that needed addressing. He tuned into it, and then everything in his mind went still with the unsettling realization that he’d yet to give Pamela his answer.

About his pup, the one that was currently making a home in his body and would do so for the next 30 weeks unless he said otherwise about it.

He tried to swallow his growing apprehension discreetly, but Dean being his bonded mate, he noticed his fluctuating emotions and its suddenly flat distress. However, since he couldn’t exactly read Castiel’s thoughts, he misunderstood it as despair about Michael’s plans.

  “Hey, don’t worry,” Dean pulled Castiel against his side and kissed him on the lips, warm and soft and sweet. The close proximity of his Alpha allowed him to breathe in more of his scent, and it calmed him somewhat. “I won’t let Michael get to you. Or any of us. Or your brother.”

  “Dean, that’s not—“

  “So I guess that means a roadtrip, huh?” Charlie clapped her hands, looking far too excited for someone who was about to pick a fight with the most powerful ruler in the Western realm.

  “I’ll get the gear ready,” Benny rolled and cracked the stiffness out of his neck. “Been a while since we had to use them.”

  “Pack light,” Dean ordered. “This isn’t going to be open warfare. This is strictly a cloak-and-dagger thing. No explosives, Kevin.”

  “But—“

  “No explosives.”

The young Lycan groaned.

  “Is there a solid plan here, Dean?” Sam asked, leaning against the doorjamb that connected the hallway of the East wing to the living den.

  “Go in, grab Gabriel, kill Michael, talk later,” Dean shrugged.

  “It’s a wonder you’re even still alive,” Sam made a face. “Is that really your plan?”

  “Got a better one?”

  “Michael won’t back down unless he’s dead, yeah,” Sam agreed. “but killing him will create a backlash, a ripple effect that won’t end well for us.”

  “Who’s going to know it’s us?” Dean raised one eyebrow.

  “I doubt a group of Lycans can just sneak in, break out a high-profile prisoner and kill the king without sounding some alarms.”

  “I’m still waiting for your suggestion, princess.”

Sam scowled at the mocking endearment. “I’m saying, we should get the people in power on our side before we bust Michael’s chops. Castiel is yours by right, isn’t he? Michael did declare that whoever won the Tournament would indisputably be his mate, so if people knew that he was trying to go back on his word, wouldn’t they rethink his suitability as a king? After all, a king who breaks his promises is the worst kind of king.”

  “Um, that would work out only if there was a next successor immediately available to take over the throne,” Castiel was reluctant to point out the flaw in Sam’s argument. “Ideally, if Gabriel was an Alpha, then there wouldn’t be as many problems. I know for a fact that at the time of our…departure from Eden, there were many on the advisory council who disapproved of Michael’s refusal to declare Dean’s win upon making Zachariah yield and his permitting of Zachariah’s cheating.”

  “Wait, wasn’t your brother Lucifer an Alpha?” Dean frowned. “What happened to him?”

  “He was exiled,” Castiel bit his lip as he recalled the day his second-oldest brother had been forced to leave Eden in shame. He’d been six years old, and he could barely remember what Lucifer looked like since his pictures had been taken down and burned upon his banishment. Michael said he’d dishonored the Novak name, and forbade Castiel from ever asking after him again. The memories were foggy and few, but Castiel did remember Lucifer being much kinder and gentler than Michael, petting his hair and giving him piggyback rides, calling him endearments that had been forgotten over time.

  “Can an exile stake a claim to the throne?” Sam asked.

  “Well, technically, yes,” Castiel folded his lips between his teeth. “That’s only if there’s no other heir available. But I don’t know where Lucifer is, and Michael has a son. Although he hasn’t presented yet, his wife would be made regent until he does. No one can contest her right to rule until her son present as anything but an Alpha.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He’ll be nine in a few months,” Castiel answered, sharing the disappointment that silenced the conversation.

  “We can’t invade Eden either, to declare conquest,” Sam sighed. “Even if anyone would be better than Michael on the throne.”

  “Can’t we just go in there and cut off the bastard’s head and hang it from the palace walls?” Dean said impatiently.

  “First of all, that’s way too rash if you think we can get away with it unscathed, and secondly, what makes you think the people will appreciate it?” Sam sounded exasperated by Dean’s headstrong attitude.

Castiel chewed his lip, simultaneously trying to think of a viable plan and when would be a good time to bring up the news that he was—

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Balthazar drawled, still confined to the couch in their midst. “I think now would be a very appropriate time to point out that my injuries should be a very telling sign that I didn’t get away unscathed.”

  “What?” Dean whirled on him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “One of the guards caught me,” Balthazar said, humorless now. “He brought me to Michael, who proceeded to beat the living shit out of me—you do realize your big brother is utterly deranged and psychopathic, don’t you, Castiel?—and interrogate me about the pack.”

  “You didn’t say anything, right?” Sam asked quickly.

  “I’ve endured worse things than kicks and punches and a broken bone,” Balthazar said disparagingly. “I lied and said I was a spy from Olani, between crocodile tears of pain, of course, to sell the story. I begged him to just kill me, lest Metatron get to me first for my failure. He snarled something about backstabbing, which most likely meant he bought it. Then he ordered me into one of the prison cells, but not the dungeon, I’m afraid. I incapacitated the guards, and escaped. On the back of Michael’s personal horse, no less.”

  “You stole Adam?” Castiel was incredulous. The horse was a rare thoroughbred that had been a gift as a foal from the ruler of a faraway land. Michael had treated the horse better than he’d treated his siblings.

  “Lovely horse, that one,” Balthazar grinned. “When he stopped trying to bite me and throw me off, of course.”

  “Back up a sec,” Dean held up a hand. “Did you just start a feud between Michael and his potential business partner?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Balthazar said airily.

The Winchester brothers exchanged a look.

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Sam said hesitantly. “But it certainly takes some of Michael’s focus off us, if he thinks that Metatron is double-crossing him. Metatron would pose more of a threat, since they’ve clearly shared some kingdom secrets. Michael would be under the impression that Metatron planned to use them against him.”

  “Kill Michael, blame Metatron,” Dean mused. “Two birds with one stone.”

  “Unless Metatron claims innocence, and no one can prove it was him,” Sam pointed out, ever the annoying voice of reason. Dean shot him a dirty look.

  “There were witnesses present when you said you were Metatron’s spy, right?” Castiel asked Balthazar.

  “Yes,” Balthazar nodded slowly. “Bunch of old men who were arguing with Michael when they brought me to him. I caught a bit of their conversation before they were interrupted by yours truly, some nonsense about Michael being imprudent. From the look on his face I thought he was going to order them to the gallows.”

  “The elders used to approve of Michael’s actions,” Castiel said slowly. “They had nothing but praise for him…”

  “…until the Tournament,” Dean finished, getting where he was going. “If the elders doubt Michael’s fitness to rule, and were aware of the idea that Metatron might be betraying him… then they would have reason to believe that Metatron ordered the assasination on him in an attempt to get at Eden, and at the same time be willing to get over Michael’s suspicious death in favor of a better ruler. Cas, you _genius_.”

He punctuated that with a firm kiss to Castiel’s temple. Castiel smiled, and leaned into him, then froze as he felt the nausea stirring inside him without warning. He lurched away from Dean, stumbling towards the nearest toilet and dry-heaving. The noise of his retching echoed into the hallway, and Dean hurried over, rubbing his back and making soothing noises.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.

Castiel went rigid, internally panicking and unable to put together a coherent thought, much less a sentence. He wasn’t ready to tell Dean yet. In fact, he was still uncertain about whether he should keep the pup or not, and how telling Dean might impact his decision. His Alpha would be overjoyed at the idea of a pup, no doubt, and that would make him want to keep it, just to make Dean happy. He wasn’t prepared to take that leap just yet.

  “Nothing,” Castiel hastened to assure him. “I’m fine. Just…my stomach doesn’t agree well with the talk of…all this.”

  “Want to go and lie down?” Dean worried, hands delightfully cool on his skin as it ran up and down his arms before brushing the hair out of his eyes. “You look a bit warm.”

  “It’s noon, Dean,” Castiel teased, anxious to avoid Dean’s suspicion. “Of course it’s warm. The sun is directly overhead in the sky.”

  “Don’t be a smartass,” Dean smiled, but there was still concern swimming in his green eyes. “Go and lie down in bed. I’ll get Pam to give you something before you upchuck again. Want any food?”

  “I’m fine,” Castiel insisted. “I want to be a part of this.”

  “Not if it makes you sick,” Dean shook his head, scooping the Omega up in his arms. “Eat something, take a nap, get some rest. I’ll go over what we talked about when you wake up, and if you have anything to say about it, I’ll listen. But only if you get some rest.”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but realized that if he was in his room, he could call Pamela up and discuss what to do about the pup inside him without Dean overhearing. His teeth snagged on his lower lip, and he assented to being carried upstairs to bed with false reluctance.

  “Bring Pamela up for me, please,” Castiel clung to Dean’s sleeve as he was laid gently on the bed.

  “Sure,” Dean bent down and kissed his forehead before tromping back down the stairs, boots heavy on the steps.

The pack healer was up within minutes, and she sat on the bed beside Castiel, expression carefully blank. “So? What were you going to say before Balzy interrupted?”

Trust her to get straight to the point. “Do you think Dean would be happy about the pup?”

  “Why not? It’s his, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is!” Castiel was highly affronted at the very idea that he might be unfaithful.

  “Alright, alright,” Pamela chuckled. “No need to get a wedgie about it. Besides, Dean would be over the moon. He’d make a great dad. So why wouldn’t he be happy?”

  “I meant, would he be happy about the pup, given the current situation?” Castiel clasped his hands together and stared down at them where they lay in his lap.

Pamela pursed her lips. She hadn’t thought about it, but now that Castiel had brought it up, it was hard to ignore. Balthazar’s return had brought bad news for the pack. With a war implicitly declared on them, it was a time of upheaval and uncertainty. Conflict was bound to occur, and there would definitely be casualties. Dean would be busy trying to resolve it, trying to win. This wasn’t a good time to be bringing a pup into the world, not when it was in a state of disarray. Not when there was a chance it might have to grow up without one father, or even both parents.

  “I don’t know,” Pamela said at last. “But I do know that he’d want you to keep it, nonetheless. Dean was never in favor of killing an unborn life. Especially not his own. At most, he’d send you away with one of the pack members, probably me, to keep you safe and far away from the fight.”

That sounded very much like what Dean would do. Castiel sighed.

  “I’ll sleep on it,” Castiel said wearily, sliding down under the sheets. “I can’t think straight right now.”

  “Do that,” Pamela said kindly, hands searching for his head and finding it so she could ruffle his hair gently. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Castiel pleaded. “Don’t tell Dean.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. “Not until you’re ready.”

He nodded, forgetting that she couldn’t see it, and let sleep envelope him. He dreamed of a golden field of wheat, stretching beyond the horizon, stalks swaying in the early autumn breeze and ripe for harvesting. He dreamed of Dean, embracing him from behind, large hands cradling a swollen belly that seemed to be a part of his body. He dreamed of a child, with his hair and Dean’s eyes, screaming with laughter as he was swung up into the arms of his like-eyed father, held high like a bird.

He dreamed, and when he woke up, he cried because he knew what his answer was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! ONWARD TO THE NEXT CHAPTERRRRRR (if you're wondering what the pack's plans turn out to be and if you think there are some flaws in their arguments...all will be settled over the next few chapters. Patience makes you a lovely person to be around)


	19. Make Your Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel had made his bed, now he must lie in it. Unless Dean can intercede somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to all you lovelies who liked my last chapter. This one was a bitch to write, and honestly I got a bit tangled in Castiel's reasoning along the way. If you're still confused, drop me a comment and I'll try my best to explain.

The bond that made Dean and Castiel mates was peculiar in the sense that it was incredibly strong, so whatever either one of them felt, the other would feel it, too. It would have been annoying if they didn’t see eye to eye at all, but for them, it had its uses.

Like now, when Dean felt his Omega’s anguish being echoed across the bond, tinged with the bitter tang of sorrow. It alerted him to his mate’s distress, and his highly likely need for his Alpha’s presence. So one second Dean was conferring with his pack on their course of action regarding Michael and Metatron, the next he was bolting up the stairs and leaving them staring after him in bafflement. He slammed open the door to the room he shared with Castiel, eyes wide with a frantic concern. The sight that awaited him spurred his feet into closing the distance between himself and his mate, and pulling the Omega into his arms and cooing.

Castiel’s eyes were rimmed with red and bright with tears, enunciating the luminous blue of his irises. His nose was slightly pink from rubbing it, and the corners of his mouth were trembling downwards. There were drying tear tracks on his cheeks, and his lips looked swollen and red from being bitten too much. His heart twisted at the sight, and he quickly set about fussing over him

  “Cas, sweetheart,” Dean lifted Castiel into his arms and adjusted their position such that he was straddling Dean’s lap, face to face. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Castiel hesitated, and he started to gnaw his lip again until Dean intervened by thumbing his lower lip away from his teeth. The gesture was tender, and it only served to make him cry even more. Alarmed, Dean instinctively guided Castiel’s nose to his own scent gland, his wolf certain that it would calm his Omega. It did, to a certain extent; Castiel snuffled against his neck, but the flow of tears only slowed rather than stopped entirely.

  “Hey,” Dean whispered against his hair, and used one hand to rub his back in slow, even strokes. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Talk to me?”

Castiel shook his head resolutely, shoulders shivering with the heaviness of his sobs. It took a while for him to calm down, but eventually he did. His eyes were still wet, and there was a misery in them that he couldn’t quite hide with the weak smile he put on his face. Dean surreptitiously checked his body for any injuries that might have instigated this, but found none. Physically, Castiel was fine, maybe just a bit disheveled from his nap. Mentally and emotionally…he was a wreck.

  “I…I’m fine,” Castiel sniffed, rubbing at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. “Just… a bad dream.”

  “What was it about?” Dean murmured, lips against Castiel’s temple. It was still a little hotter than usual. “Tell me. You’ll feel better.”

  “I don’t remember it anymore,” Castiel said, but even Dean could tell he was lying. Dean opened his mouth to object, but Castiel gave him a look, pleading with him to drop the matter. “Tell me about the pack. What are you guys doing to do about Michael?”

Maybe his dream had something to do with Michael and the looming threat. The oldest Novak brother had a very good reason to be a source of nightmares for Castiel, having oppressed him for most of his life and for as long as he could remember. Given their current quandary, it wouldn’t be unusual for Castiel to have had a nightmare about Michael and the threats he posed. It was just another reason in the long, long list reasons Dean had to want to eviscerate the son of a bitch.

 “Well,” Dean cuddled Castiel tighter to him, willing to change the topic if it made him feel better. “Sammy dug up some old annals on the Eden royalty, and we found out that if the majority of the advisory council agrees that the king is not fit for ruling, and there is an Alpha heir immediately available for succession, Michael could be officially and properly deposed. We have the advisory council thing down pat, given how most of them probably hate him, but the next issue is finding an Alpha Novak that can take the throne now instead of in the next eight or nine years.”

  “Lucifer,” Castiel mumbled. “But he’s—“

  “Disappeared, yeah,” Dean smiled. “So Bobby and Rufus decided to head out and hit up a few of their old friends, call in some favors and see if they could get even a clue about your less-psychotic older brother.”

Castiel let out a weak chuckle. “Lucifer was nice to me. I think.”

  “All the more reason to back him up to take the throne,” Dean kissed Castiel’s forehead, glad to have coaxed even the smallest of laughs out of his Omega. “Bobby and Rufus should be back in two days, latest. But we’re worried about whether Michael might make a move in that time, so we’re thinking of packing up and going somewhere else for a while. Sammy was bitching about his books—“

  “Wait, what?” Castiel sat up suddenly, then swayed, turning green. He shoved Dean away and scrambled for the toilet, where he could be heard retching violently again.

Only then did Dean notice that Pamela was sitting on a chair by the bed, her expression pinched, like she was unhappy about something. He’d rarely seen her like that, when she was normally much more saucy and brazen. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but his attention was diverted to Castiel when the Omega started crying over the toilet bowl again.

  “You’re definitely not okay,” Dean said firmly, helping Castiel to his feet and insisting on a glass of water before carrying him back to the bed. “Pam, what the hell are you doing? Shouldn’t he be taking any herbs or something? He’s sick!”

Pamela snorted, milky eyes unseeing but brows drawn in a frown. “Sick? He’s—“

  “Pamela!” Castiel begged. “You promised!”

  “He’s your Alpha!” Pamela said stiffly.

  “You promised!”

Dean held up his hands. “Stop! What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with Cas? Why can’t she tell me?”

  “You promised,” Cas whispered, ignoring Dean, eyes fixed on the Beta who could look back at him properly.

He was already faltering; the sight of Dean bursting in through the door, all concern and love, had shaken his already fragile resolve. He couldn’t bear to see Dean upset, but the alternative was much worse. The idea of a life without Dean, without his smile and his gentle affection… he didn’t think he could live like that. Not when he wouldn’t be able to wake up to Dean’s sleeping face in the morning, made boyish in his slumber. Not when he wouldn’t be able to kiss those lips and wrap his arms around his warm, solid body. Not when he would have to raise a child without him. Yet seeing Dean in the flesh, rather than his corpse in Castiel’s head, was fast undoing his determination. His peat moss eyes, his sand-like freckles, his thick, dextrous fingers. Living without those wouldn’t be living at all, but then there was that annoying voice in his head reminding Castiel that their child would share some of Dean’s features, maybe even his personality. It might ease the pain of a life without Dean, to have a little bit of him still by his side.

Either way would still break his heart, because despite his decision to save it from a life where it wouldn’t have one parent to nurture it, he was already attached to the pup inside him. The dream of the pup with his hair and Dean’s eyes, laughing and happy in Dean’s arms haunted him, reminding him that it might not have to be a dream at all. It could be reality, if Dean and their pup survived. But there was nothing more horrible to endure than a broken dream, especially one that had come so close to being made reality.

  “Castiel, you _have_ to,” Pamela said, not unkindly. “He has a right to know.”

  “ _Know what?”_ Dean fairly shouted, fast growing hysterical with agitation. “ _Cas, what’s wrong?”_

Dean was turning slightly red in the face, beside himself with worry, his eyes frantic and fingers clenching and unclenching. Castiel looked up at him, slightly dazed as all the reasoning and logic raced through his mind at warp speed.

What if he told Dean, and kept the pup? Dean would no doubt send him somewhere far from Michael’s reach, and go headfirst into battle. It was egotistical of Castiel to think such a thing, but it was highly probable that Dean would be constantly worried about him, and that would keep him off his game. A stray thought of concern for Castiel and the pup, and Dean could be lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. The image sent a shudder through Castiel’s body, and he physically shook his head to clear it away.

And if he didn’t tell Dean and didn’t keep the pup? What then? Dean would charge into battle, wholly concentrated in victory, yes. But Castiel would feel guilty for the rest of his life. He would maybe even come to regret it someday, if he even lived that far into a future that was presently being dimmed by Michael. He would never forget the life that had such hope, such potential, just waiting to be loved, and the fact that he’d been the one to end it. But at least Dean would be there to soothe his self-loathing and regret, even if he might not know the reason behind it. And that was enough, wasn’t it?

What about Dean not knowing, and Castiel keeping the pup a secret? Dean might bring him to the battlefield, might unwittingly put him in harm’s way. Castiel wouldn’t have been bothered. He would have been proud, even, to be considered strong enough to stand by his Alpha in a fight. But not when there was a pup at stake, a pup that would grow and soon show quickly, making him even more of an easy, obvious target. People might use the pup and Castiel against Dean… and Castiel would be a widow, and his pup wouldn’t have its father. Metatron would claim him, and then remove the pup from his body by force. By that point in time, the pup wouldn’t be just a few cells conglomerating in his body. It would be a tiny little Lycan, with a heartbeat and four limbs and maybe even Dean’s eyes. But it wasn’t as if the choice of keeping the pup a secret now was being offered to him, thanks to Pamela’s intervention.

  “Cas, please,” Dean pleaded, hands gripping Castiel’s upper arms a little too tightly, fingers digging into the flesh there with a strength borne of fear. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He looked at his Alpha in the eye, and saw in Dean everything he’d ever wanted, and would ever want. He knew he was depriving Dean of the chance to meet his child, and depriving his child of the blessing of meeting his father. He knew Dean would make the best dad, the kind who would spoil their child rotten, yet train them to be just and fair and strong.

  “I’m with pup,” Castiel said faintly, hearing himself speak but as if it was someone else’s voice. “I’m not keeping it.”

Dean went frighteningly still, his only movement being the slightest widening of his eyes. They were blank, and his mouth went slack with shock. The pressure of his fingers against Castiel’s flesh disappeared. His upright position and the infinitesmal rising and falling of his shoulders was the only sign he was still alive.

  “W-with pup?” Dean said hoarsely, stunned. “My pup?”

Despite the nerve-racking circumstances, Castiel wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation. “Yes, Dean. Your pup. Our pup.”

Dean’s eyes slid down Castiel’s throat, to his chest, and then settled on his abdomen. It was flat, and if Castiel hadn’t said anything, he would never have guessed that there was his child in there, waiting for his hugs and his kisses, for him to tuck them into bed at night. He made a weird, choking noise, and was about to pull Castiel into a hug until he remembered the rest of Castiel’s words.

  “You’re not keeping it?” Dean repeated, his momentary joy at the idea of being a father be violently derailed.

  “No,” Castiel wasn’t looking Dean in the eye.

Dean swallowed, his wolf strongly opposing his Omega’s decision, demanding that the pup be born and be cared for. To protect and love. His wolf adamantly insisted that Dean refute Castiel’s decision, but then he knew what he’d said. It was Castiel’s choice, and he wasn’t going to take that freedom away from him. He deserved it more than Dean deserved to have a pup of his own.

  “I know I said I wouldn’t try to change your mind,” Dean said softly, and Castiel flinched when he took his hands in own bigger ones. “But can I at least ask why?”

Castiel lifted his gaze to Dean’s, and there were tears gathering at the corners of his eyes once more. His voice was unsteady and thick with sobs when he answered. “Because…because I don’t want to have this pup without you.”

Dean’s brow furrowed in a perplexed frown. “What do you mean, ‘without me’?”

All of a sudden, the wretchedness that seemed to choke Castiel was replaced with a bitter anger. Anger with Michael, for taking away his newfound happiness before he’d managed to let it bloom fully. Anger with Dean, for his stupid honorable intentions and kindness that made this decision so hard for him. Anger with himself, for having to do this to his Alpha when Dean would so clearly do anything to keep him and their pup safe.

  “I can’t raise a pup by myself!” Castiel struck Dean’s chest over and over with his fists, ignoring the ineffectiveness of the action when he was in such a weakened state and Dean was practically Herculean by comparison. “I can’t let you go off fighting Michael, then worrying about me and your worrying making your careless, and then your carelessness getting you killed! I don’t want you doing stupid, heroic things like trying to save me from my brother when it’s going to kill you! I don’t want you to be a martyr just so this pup and I can live!”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrists, and there was a exasperated half-smile on Dean’s face as the Omega continued to shout and cry, waiting him out patiently. Eventually, Castiel sagged against Dean, weeping miserably and hiccuping sobs wracking his small frame. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel and pressed his lips to the smaller man’s brow, making soft hushing noises. For some reason, that only made Castiel cry even harder.

Dean’s patience and gentle soothing were clear indicators of the great father he’d make. And Castiel was robbing him of that opportunity, if Dean even managed to survive Michael’s wrath. So what did that make him? A murderer _and_ a thief.

  “Sweetheart,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s forehead, one hand tightly wrapped around his waist and the other hand doing slow, even strokes up and down his shaking back. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Castiel made a noise of furious indignance and made as if to shove Dean away, but Dean was much stronger and kept Castiel close to him, arms gently restraining.

  “Well, sorry if I love you too much to live without you,” Castiel snarled, trying to squirm away from Dean.

Dean abruptly stiffened, Castiel’s statement settling in his head. “You said you love me.”

Castiel paused, realizing what he’d just said. For all their affections and intimacy and bond, Castiel had never actually said that he loved Dean. Dean, on the other hand, had said it multiple times: through their bond, in the heat of a climax, in post-coital haze, in random moments of affinity. He’d meant it, every single time. But while Castiel was obviously deeply fond of Dean, he’d never actually expressed it in any way, much less aloud.

  “Say that again,” Dean said urgently, heart swelling absurdly despite the gravitas of the situation.

Castiel hesitated, then scowled. “I love you.”

  “Try that again, this time without the frowny-face,” Dean teased, and kissed Castiel, silencing whatever he was going to say. He coaxed Castiel’s resistance into cooperation, sliding his tongue over his Omega’s lower lip and nibbling on it lightly.

Pamela coughed, and then they remembered that she was there, what was happening.

  “Lemme get this straight,” Dean’s breath was warm on Castiel’s wet lips, and there was a strange quirk to his mouth that somehow infuriated the Omega. “You don’t want to keep our pup because you think I’m going to lose my head worrying about you two when I’m off playing ‘get the hell off that throne’ with your older brother, and get myself killed. You think I won’t come back, and therefore life won’t be worth living.”

Castiel nodded fractionally, hating the way Dean made it sound so foolish and silly.

  “It’s still your choice, sweetheart,” Dean clarified. “Don’t get me wrong. I said it was, and I keep my word. But let’s set some things clear: I have every intention of coming back to you. Even if I have to slaughter everyone in Eden and the surrounding regions, I will do it. You’re the whole reason I’m doing this, Cas. If not for you, I’d have said ‘fuck it, let’s go get ourselves killed fighting Michael without a plan’. You’re the reason why I’m listening to Sammy and his dumbass logic instead of ignoring him like I usually would.”

Castiel sniffled, and murmured ‘really?’ into Dean’s scent gland, inhaling his soothing Alpha scent.

  “Really,” Dean assured him, massaging his scalp. “Cas, you’ve just given me another reason to stay alive and come back to you. You think I’d let my guard down so Michael could take this away from me? Michael can go fuck himself. And so can anyone else who’s on Michael’s side. I’ll rip all their throats out and hang their bodies from the palace walls if it means being able to come back to you…and our pup.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” Castiel whispered. “I can’t lose you.”

  “Baby, think of it this way,” Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s hot cheek. “I _will_ come back to you, no matter what. I’d move heaven and hell to do it. But if you’re so afraid that I won’t come back and you…don’t keep our pup, what happens when I do? Are you going to be okay with that?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question meant to spite. It was a genuine, sincere question of Castiel’s feelings. The ones he’d been ignoring in favor of making what he believd to be the right choice.

  “If you’re okay with that,” Dean murmured. “Then I’m okay with that. But Cas, love, you have to stop thinking that our pup is going to be the death of me. Maybe it will, in sixteen years when it’s being an asshole of a teenager like I was, but not now. It’s going to be another reason for me to want to come back to you, because there is no way in hell I’m going to let you raise it without me.”

Castiel was silent, fist tightening in Dean’s shirt. For the longest while, he said nothing, and then the sun was sinking below the horizon. He could hear the pack getting busy downstairs, making arrangements in preparation for their upcoming fight, which hopefully wouldn’t come to an actual fight. He could hear Ellen banging around the kitchen with her pots and pans. He could hear John talking to Sammy, voices low and serious. He could hear Kevin putting together explosives and he rolled his eyes. It sounded so…serene, like the calm before a storm.

When Castiel spoke, it startled Dean out of his reverie.

  “I’ll keep it,” he whispered so softly Dean actually had to strain to hear him correctly, even with Lycan hearing. His lips were chapped and raw, barely moving to form the words. Dean exhaled with relief, and tightened his arms around Castiel, feeling his muscles relax and the tightly-strung nerves dissipate. “But on condition.”

Dean tensed again. “What condition?”

  “That Lucifer is found,” Castiel lifted a somber, cobalt gaze to Dean’s, utterly resolute. “And he is willing to challenge Michael for the right to rule.”

* * *

Dinner was a quiet, grave affair. The pack ate without much of their usual gusto, and the conversation was awkward until finally they let it trail off in silence. Everyone was painfully aware that when Dean had gone upstairs in a hurry earlier that afternoon, something had happened between him and Castiel. There were no raised voices, only the faint scent of distress, and a bit of anger, nothing that could form a solid guess. The pack thought about taking bets, as they usually did, on what had transpired, but their Alpha’s and his Omega’s face when they came downstairs had swiftly silenced that particular conversation.

The air was thick with tension, the kind only the older members like John, Missouri, Ellen and Pamela were immune to. Pamela had been upstairs with them, so the pack tried asking her what had went down to make Dean look so stressed out and Castiel so unresponsive.

“Going to spit it out, or make me drag that stick out of your ass?” John drawled at length, not looking up from his plate.

Dean stiffened ever so slightly, and slid a glance at Castiel, who had likewise turned to stone, fork lifted halfway to his mouth. The silence between them was palpable, and felt like it couldn’t be penetrated with a blade. If they weren’t all staring at the pair with the focus of a group of hungry wolves, they would have missed the subtle, tiny shake of Castiel’s head.

“Not going to talk about it,” Dean muttered, clearly unhappy with Castiel’s decision to say nothing and shovelling more food into his mouth to avoid talking altogether.

Garth wrung a napkin between his hands, affected by the tension and shooting worried glances at the others. Charlie bit her lip, heroically suppressing the urge to interrogate the two, and Kevin looked like he wanted to bolt. Benny, Balthazar and Jo, on the other hand, very much used to Dean’s moods, let it drop. For now, that is.

“Dean, step outside with me,” John didn’t make it a question; it was an order. “ _Now_.”

Dean groaned, and Castiel sent him a panicked look that had the Alpha squeezing his shoulder in some semblance of reassurance. He followed John outside, and the night air of the Borderlands was cool on his skin, stimulating him somewhat.

  “Nothing quite like a breath of fresh air,” John inhaled deeply, and exhaled heavily. “Gonna tell me what’s going on?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Dean knew it. Retired though he may be, John was technically still Dean’s Alpha. Not to mention his _father_. He knew Castiel was going to be mad at him for this, but he _needed_ to tell _someone_. Before he went crazy.

  “Cas is pregnant,” Dean folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the porch railing. “I guess that’s where I should start.”

John looked at him sharply, eyes wide. “Cas pupped?”

  “Mmhmm,” Dean nodded in the affirmative.

  “That’s something to be happy—oh,” John’s delight at the prospect of grandpups was immediately nipped in the bud by the recollection of the pack’s current problem. Now John had another motive to make Michael suffer, because Michael was making his son and his son’s mate suffer. “How did Cas feel about it?”

  “He wants to get rid of it,” it physically hurt Dean to even say it, and the words came out choked. His wolf screamed at him not to let it happen, to protect his offspring. Even if it was from his own Omega, the bearer of his child.

  “What?” John couldn’t believe his ears. Dean and Cas were so obviously in love with each other, and there was already a bet going on how long it would take for Cas to pup (well, looked like Missouri won the pot again, dammit). He had assumed tha Castiel would be happy, and worried, but happy about it. His assumptions had always been a bone of contention between him and Mary, who used to point out that they were traditionalist thoughts. Fair enough. “Why?”

  “At first, he was going to get rid of it because he was afraid I’d die in the fight with Michael,” Dean said carefully. “And he didn’t want to have to raise the pup without me.”

  “And now?”

  “We…we made a deal,” Dean closed his eyes and rubbed his mouth and chin with one hand, a habit that had been with him since his youth. “If Lucifer showed up and took Michael head-on…he’d keep the pup.”

If John was honest, he would say he understood Castiel’s reasons for not wanting to keep the pup. The death of a mate, particularly one with whom you shared an incredibly strong bond, could drive you to insanity, and eventually premature death. Not to mention that if Dean died, it was highly probably that most of the pack would have died with him, be it by Michael’s hand or by sacrifice. There would be no one to take care of Castiel, except maybe Missouri or Pamela, and even then an expecting Omega whose mate had died was more vulnerable to miscarrying. The body would very likely reject the presence of a pup when there was no Alpha to care for the Omega and the pup, and instinct dictated that Castiel would have to find another mate to care for him and bond with him.

But still.

  “Finding Lucifer is like finding a needle in the haystack,” John growled. “The guy was exiled twelve years ago. Where the hell—“

A clamor in the house interrupted him, and both Alphas exchanged a confused look before darting inside to see what the ruckus was about. Dean automaticaly searched Castiel out, and found him in the living room, hands clasped over his mouth and tears in his eyes. He made to go over to him, but stopped short when a blonde, stocky man with Castiel’s eyes and Michael’s nose swooped forward and picked him up in a tight hug. Dean’s wolf instinctively snarled at the stranger for touching _his_ Omega, especially his _pregnant_ Omega. Yet there was something familiar about him…his scent…his features…

The whole pack was in a state of shock and disarray, and Dean noticed that Bobby and Rufus were at the doorway, grinning like idiots. He put two and two together, and his jaw dropped. No fucking way—

  “Hey, Cassie,” Lucifer Novak chuckled, and for the millionth time that day, Castiel burst into tears.

This time, however, they were tears of joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW THE LAST PART WAS A BIT RUSHED BUT I MEANT FOR IT TO BE LIKE THAT. All will be explained in the next chapter, rest assured. But enjoy your good news and what Lucie's return means! The next chapter might not be out for a while...MIGHT. I SAID MIGHT.


	20. Lie In It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer comes to the rescue... or has he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyylooooooo sorry for not updating yesterday... But as I promised, an explanation regarding Lucifer's WAY TOO FORTUITOUS APPEARANCE JUST WHEN ALL SEEMS BAD AND WRONG AND HOPELESS. WILL CAS GET TO KEEP HIS PUP? WHO KNOWS. READ AND YOU WILL!

Once Lucifer and Castiel could bear to part, the pack demanded to hear the story of how Rufus and Bobby had managed to find him. They weren’t even expecting to get a clue regarding his whereabouts, yet here he was, in their living den. Lucifer settled on one of the couches, still every bit as graceful as the prince he’d once been, exuding a much calmer and sagacious aura than Michael. Castiel wouldn’t let him go, clinging to his older brother like he was afraid he’d vanish again, and Lucifer didn’t seem to mind as he kept one arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

Dean watched the whole scene unfold with the kind of detachment of someone who was having a very far-fetched dream. His mind was blank with shock as he tried to process the fact that _Lucifer was here—the former prince who’d been exiled almost two decades ago and had not been heard from since._ He’d hoped for this, and he’d even _prayed_ for this (without the sarcasm this time), but it was still kind of hard to swallow. The gears wouldn’t turn, and Dean stood there like a pole sprouting in the middle of nowhere while the rest of the pack seated themselves in the living den to hear the tale. Bobby and Rufus were only to happy to share, making their explanation sound more like an expletive with their usual choice of words.

  “…couldn’t find nothing, so we went to Bela Talbot,” Rufus paused to take a deep swig of his ale, having succinctly described the journey through four towns on the outskirts of Eden and the interrogation of their usual information-dealing contacts.

  “I didn’t want to,” Bobby shrugged. “but if anybody knows anything about anyone else, it would be the Talbot girl. Her prices are higher than Michael’s nose is raised, but they’re worth it for what you get. We got nothing to offer, and nothing she would want, so we left it at that. Just packing up on our way back to Dakota’s inn for the night, and when we get there this bastard here has a knife at Rufus’ throat and demands to know why we’re looking for him.”

Lucifer smiled. “I said I was sorry. I like being unknown and unheard of. Gives me a freedom I never had as a prince.”

Castiel stiffened, and Dean’s heart turned into lead when the implication of Lucifer’s words sank in. Everyone reacted similarly, including Rufus and Bobby. Clearly none of them had anticipated this; their lack of prolepsis wasn’t really unreasonable when you considered the fact that they hadn’t even expected to be able to find Lucifer in the first place. They’d just assumed that everything else would fall into place, by the grace of Fenris and a shit ton of luck.

  “Thanks for bringing me to Cas,” Lucifer went on, heedless of the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “It’s so good to see you again, Cassie. You look like you’re doing great, so I guess I don’t have to castrate Dean.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, but his chest was heaving in short, uneven breaths and his gaze was glued to his lap. Dean stared at him, feeling his panic and dismay flood their bond, and willing him not to go through with what he was undoubtedly thinking. Castiel’s blue eyes flickered briefly up at him, and seeing Dean’s frustrated expression, they swiftly returned to his lap once more. The eye contact had lasted less than a half a heartbeat, yet it showed Dean just how torn Castiel was about his decision. It showed him that Castiel really _did_ want the pup, as much as Dean did. He wanted to pull Castiel into his arms, and smother his fears. In a wild, frantic grasp of an alternative way to keep both Cas _and_ the pup, he thought about running away, about telling the pack to call it a day and just board a ship to somewhere beyond Michael’s jurisdiction.

  “Cassie?” Lucifer gently nudged Castiel when the youngest Novak brother did not respond. “Cassie, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Castiel swallowed thickly, the beginnings of another bout of tears already on their way. Before the pack and Lucifer could be privy to a miserably-crying Castiel, Dean swooped in and picked Castiel up in his arms, hiding his face in his shoulder before carrying him upstairs. The pack was too surprised to voice whatever they might have had to say, but Lucifer immediately got to his feet and proceeded to follow the pair, until Dean whirled on him, his face twisted in a territorial snarl. In the face of his Omega’s distress, the presence of another Alpha was intolerable, even if that Alpha was the blood relation of his Omega.

Lucifer, instead of being cowed, snarled back just as ferociously. He had a claim to Castiel as his older brother, and sibling protectiveness in Lycans was not a rare trait (though it was definitely a trait Michael could use). Dean kept up a low, rumbling growl of possessiveness, tightening his grip on a whining Castiel, who didn’t like the tension that was saturating the air. It wasn’t helping his misery, and his bitter sadness—he’d desperately hoped that Lucifer would be found and he would challenge Michael, which would save Dean a fight and very possibly avoid a death by Michael’s hand. His joy at Lucifer’s arrival had been inundating in its intensity, and he’d thrown himself into the arms of his older brother, convinced that this was nothing short of a miracle or he was dreaming. Then Lucifer expressed his fondness for his freedom, unfettered by the chains of the crown and nobility, much like Castiel had enjoyed his freedom with Dean and his pack. His condition about keeping the pup slapped him in the face, relief and jubilation viciously obliterated before it could bloom properly and be shared with Dean.

Dean, whose instincts still railed at him to protect Castiel and the pup, and that protectiveness had chafed at Castiel’s already-calcified resolved, chipping at it relentlessly. Castiel’s own wolf was driving him insane with the exact same instinct to protect his pup, no matter what the cost. He wanted to give Dean the opportunity to be a father. He wanted to see that joy wreathing his face and lighting up his viridescent eyes, to see his child in Dean’s arms. Nothing could take away that bone-deep _need_ … except reality.

A reality of Lucifer shaking his head at the idea of challenging Michael for a throne he didn’t even want, of Dean taking Michael head-on and lying in a pool of his own blood as the light in his eyes shuttered and died. He’d never been taught very much about his own Omegan biology, since Michael had assumed his instincts would guide him when the time came for him to cross whatever bridge, but there was a sort of intuition or inherent warning him that if Dean died, the pain of a broken bond would very likely turn him to insanity, and the resulting consequence would be his body trying to adapt to make way for another Alpha. As a result, his unborn pup would be forcefully removed by his own body, not of his own volition, and the very last memoir he would have of Dean would be lost forever. That would be the straw that would break his back, the idea of failing Dean even in his death, to be unable to bear his Alpha his offspring. By then, he would welcome Death with open arms.

  “Dean,” Castiel clutched at Dean’s shirt, deliberately oblivious to the staredown Lucifer and his Alpha were still carrying on. “Dean, I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

He would rather give up the baby now by choice, and go with Dean to Eden and help him fight Michael.

  “Sweetheart,” Dean broke away from his show of Alpha dominance with Lucifer and kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his mouth. “You won’t. You won’t. We’ll take a ship. We’ll go somewhere far away. Somewhere Michael can’t come after us.”

Castiel burst into tears, knowing that Dean meant every word. But there was still Gabriel to be thought of, still the pack to take into consideration.

  “Wait, what is this about going somewhere far away? What are you talking about?” Lucifer demanded. “Cassie, what in the nine hells is going on with you two?”

Dean gave Castiel a pleading glance, but Castiel hesitated.

  “It might convince him to help our cause,” Dean whispered, and the much-longed for hope filled Castiel’s chest once more. He knew it was probably too much to ask of Lucifer, taking on their tyrant of an oldest brother, risking his freedom and his life for a cause that wasn’t even his own. He nodded then, and watched with trepidation, trembling faintly in Dean’s arms.

  “Michael wants to hunt down my pack and I,” Dean said slowly, assessing Lucifer’s reaction. “He wants to pay me back for ruining his chances of a politcal venture with Zachariah Alder, whom I killed in the Tournament for Castiel’s hand. He wants to break our bond by killing me, and giving Castiel to some douchebag called Metatron for some alliance bullshit.”

Lucifer seemed to be taking it pretty well, if not for the incredulous yet disgusted expression on his face. He gestured for Dean to continue, knowing that there was more to it.

  “We want to get Michael off the throne,” Dean tread carefully, mindful of the small possibility that Lucifer might still harbor affection for his dictatorial oldest sibling.

  “You’re going to kill him?” Lucifer’s eyebrows angled upwards. The idea evidently did not appeal to him, which meant that he still retained some sense of familial love for Michael, even if it was unwarranted.

  “No,” Dean shook his head, feeling Castiel’s fingers tighten in his shirt and recipocrating by briefly pressing a kiss to his warm forehead. “We were hoping you would challenge him.”

Lucifer was silent, and Dean’s heart hammered nervously against his ribcage, his mouth going dry with apprehension like he was standing on the edge of a cliff with an unfathomable depth.

  “So that’s why you were looking for me,” Lucifer’s tone was neutral, devoid of any feelings he might be having about Dean’s explanation. “You wanted me to give up my life as a free man and challenge my older brother, whom I still love despite the fact that I have every reason in the world to hate him, just so I can return to a life where my every word, action and thought was manacled?”

Dean shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Castiel bit his lip so hard, blood surfaced and both Alphas scented it, immediately turning their gazes on him with alarming speed. Lucifer shook his head and inhaled deeply, wincing when it only served to fill his nostrils with the scent of his baby brother’s blood and sour fear.

  “Give me one good reason why I should,” Lucifer said quietly. “Besides helping Cassie.”

Dean and Castiel exchanged looks. Well, this was it. Here went nothing.

  “Cas is pregnant,” Dean answered, keeping his voice low so any eavesdropping pack members wouldn’t hear it.

Lucifer’s eyes went so wide, Dean was actually afraid they were going to just pop out.

  “Cassie…my baby brother is pregnant?” Lucifer’s voice was strangled. “You guys are going to have a pup? My…my nephew?”

Dean nodded, beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake to tell Lucifer. “He’s about two or three weeks along.”

Lucifer held out a hand to Castiel, and Dean beat down the urge to snarl at the trespass. Castiel peeked at his older brother with those sweet, lovely blue eyes that just demanded to be loved, and took his hand.

  “I’m going to be an uncle,” Lucifer murmured, sounding awestruck. “You and Dean are going to be parents.”

  “Not unless you help us get rid of Michael,” Dean shook his head. “Michael would force Castiel to get abort the pup if he gets his hands on him.”

Lucifer looked at Castiel, who stared back with eyes the exact same shade of blue. It was the only feature they shared as siblings, along with an innate love for a life without a crown. Lucifer was an exile, and Castiel was a runaway. To anyone else, it might have sounded derogatory and punishing, but to them it meant a better life. Having an actual choice, a chance.

Castiel’s eyes were hopeful yet sad, and they told Lucifer that no matter what his choice, there would be no hard feelings.

Lucifer sighed heavily, raking his hand through his close-cropped hair. Hope was practically being radiated from the pair, and he’d left his baby brother to the mercies of his overbearing older brother for twelve years. The least he could do now was make up for it by saving their pup, his nephew.

  “Alright,” Lucifer gave them a crooked smile, and his heart warmed at the sight of their joy lighting up their faces. “Tell me the plan.”

* * *

  “This is the most ridiculous plan I have ever heard.”

Lucifer massaged the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and head tilted back against the headrest of the sofa.

  “You got a better plan?” John arched a single eyebrow with a grace Dean had yet to master. “Because I’m all ears.”

It was one-thirty in the morning, and most of the pack were crammed into the living den discussing their next course of action. Once everyone had managed to get over the fact that yes, Lucifer the exiled prince who’d vanished for 12 years was really in their midst, they got down to business. Most of them were still perplexed about what had transpired between Dean and Castiel, but they decided not to press the issue since it apparently wasn’t much of one anymore. Their pack Alpha and his Omega had come back downstairs with Lucifer and foolishly delighted grins on their faces, practically _oozing_ joy. Lucifer was just as ecstatic, and while the pack really wanted to know what was going on, they let it slide for now. They had more important things to focus on, like a demonic dictator to overthrow (Charlie’s words).

Sometime after eleven, Dean had told Castiel to go up to bed when the Omega yawned for the fifth time in six minutes, and asked Pam to accompany him. The blind Beta nodded and trailed after Castiel, rubbing his back soothingly. She seemed pleased with Dean and Castiel, and she looked like she knew what had gone on between the two, but she wasn’t telling anyone. Missouri said she had a very good guess about it, but she wasn’t telling either. John was another one; their former pack Alpha had a brief exchange with Dean once he, Castiel and Lucifer had come back downstairs, and then he was hugging the three of them, a sight that had stunned the entire pack since he wasn’t much of a touchy-feely person.

Balthazar, still a little sore from his beating, had peeled off to head to bed around midnight. Jo followed after reluctantly, ordered to bed by her mother, and that had reminded Linda to do the same to Kevin. Rufus and Bobby, though determined to help formulate a plan, were told to go to bed since they were both pretty much dead on their feet from scouring for clues about Lucifer’s whereabouts. Garth wound up snoring with his head on Charlie’s shoulder, and the redhead’s eyelids began to droop as if sleepiness was contagious. Ellen covered them with a quilt, and they carried on with their discussion.

  “Just because the elders disapprove of a few of Michael’s actions, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ll denounce him,” Lucifer rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, jaw going taut as he suppressed a huge yawn. “Besides, the golden boy who’s made a few boo-boos compared to the exiled failure? Michael has the advantage when it comes to swaying those                         old coots. I hated them, and I didn’t make it much of a secret.”

  “You just need to make your case,” Dean was just as tired; he’d been on an emotional roller-coaster all day, and his head was throbbing. “Build it up, sell your story. Ask Balthazar for a few tips.”

  “There’s only a story to sell if there’s something worth being gained from it,” Lucifer pointed out.

  “How about a much more rational king who doesn’t fuck up his own family for the sake of political ties?” John said, taking a huge gulp of his coffee, which had replaced his ale about three hours ago at Ellen’s stern insistence.

  “I’d buy it,” Benny shrugged. “Family’s always important. You fuck up your family, you tend to fuck up everything else.”

No one in the pack said anything, but they knew Benny was speaking from the heart. He had a history before he came to the Winchester pack, and it wasn't a pretty one. Dean knew the most, and like a true friend, he wouldn't tell. All he let on was that Benny had lost a mate, and in his grief he'd done some really bad shit. The bonds of a family meant a lot to him, so when people threatened the pack, Benny was one of the first next to Dean to rear up his head and roar.

  “Thank you,” John held up his coffee mug in a toast, and Benny grinned.

  “Can we call it a day?” Lucifer didn’t bother hiding the yawn this time, and he stretched, joints popping. “Is there a bed I can borrow? Or can I just hit the sofa?”

  “We got plenty of room,” Missouri reassured him. “I’ll show you yours.”

Everybody agreed to wake up at dawn tomorrow to decide whether or not to move; Michael was likely to send people out to scour the Borderlands for their location, and seeing as the pack house was the only sign of civilization around for miles, it wouldn’t be hard to spot them. Dean, John and Lucifer wanted to grab the essentials and head deeper into the forest or the mountains, for a more defensible location. The others had expressed doubt and skepticism at the idea, not keen on leaving their own territory. Of course, Dean, John and Lucifer had the ulterior motives of wanting to keep Castiel safe, and the further he was away from Michael, the better.

Dean trudged upstairs with John, and in the hallway before they went separate ways to their own rooms, John put a hand on his shoulder.

  "I'm glad," John said gruffly. "Both of us better thank Fenris tonight, because it's by his kindness that Lucifer showed up and saved us not only an ugly fight, but my grandpup and your pup."

Dean rolled his eyes but smiled, and they exchanged a manly one-armed hug, clapping each other on the back. Knowing that there would soon be another generation in their pack filled them both with relief and euphoria. Dean didn't mind having a chick-flick moment over _this_. "I will. Goodnight, Dad."

Castiel was curled up on the bed in a fetal position, sheets tangled around his compact body and one of his hands was resting on his flat abdomen. Dean wasn’t sure if it was a conscious gesture of if he was just comfortable like that, but it still made him smile. He washed up, stripped, and climbed into bed, careful not to jostle Castiel. The Omega stirred anyway, and blinked drowsily at his Alpha.

  “Dean?” he slurred, voice thick with lethargy.

  “It’s me,” he kissed Castiel’s forehead and pulled the blanket over the both of them, letting the Omega shift until his head was resting on Dean’s shoulder and the arm that wasn’t covering his stomach was thrown over his torso. “Go back to sleep, Cas.”

  “Mmphrhg,” Castiel mumbled incoherently, nuzzling against Dean’s warmth. “Lo’you.”

  “Love you, too,” Dean murmured, burying his nose in Castiel’s hair and feeling delight course languidly through his body when he was able to pick up the very faint scent of something else besides Castiel’s natural scent: it was the tang of something ripe and citrusy, like oranges. It was a sign of Castiel’s pregnancy, and a sign that their pup was waiting to meet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was this insufficient in depth idk i didn't feel good writing it but it just SPURTED out.


	21. What's Your Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean are finally coming to terms with the outcome of recent events, and can be happy about it at last... but for how long?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of rape and graphic violence and minor character death.
> 
> This chapter shows Ellen's and Lucifer's backstory, and a bit about Jo's dad. Enjoy! It's 2.30AM where I am and I am BURNT OUT.

When Castiel opened his eyes the next morning, he had to close them again just as swiftly to direct all his focus into combating the nausea that rolled over him like a wave. It didn’t help, and the horribly familiar sensation of something welling up from his stomach into his throat. Before he knew it, he had lurched off the bed and was kneeling over the toilet bowl for the ninth morning in a row, tears springing reflexively to his eyes as he gagged on the taste of his own vomit. His stomach cramped and heaved painfully in a bid to empty itself, and he braced his hands on the seat of the toilet as another round spilled from his mouth. His throat was burning from the acidity, his mouth tasted sour and stale, and there was a sheen of cold sweat on the back of his neck and forehead. He groaned, collapsing on his knees and resting his head on the marvellously cool surface of the toilet seat to wait for the next bout. The nausea didn’t relent, instead choosing to run like an undercurrent in his body, a presence you couldn’t quite ignore.

  “Hey,” Dean’s voice was husky with lethargy, but his hand was delightfully warm and comforting as it stroked his back. “Feeling better?”

Castiel could only shake his head a little, afraid to jostle his own body for fear of reprisal.

  “Want me to the mashed ginger brew?” Dean murmured, using his other hand to rub the sleep from his eyes. “And the saltines?”

  “Yes, please,” Cas practically whimpered. Dean nodded, unable to hold back a yawn and going downstairs in search of said items.

By the time he returned, Castiel had vomited one more time and found that the urge to do it again had subsided enough for him to return to the soft comfort of the bed. The sun had yet to rise, and Castiel gauged it to be around half-past six, almost seven, if the disappearance of stars in the faintly brightening sky was anything to go by. Dean was munching on a saltine himself, balancing a tray of two cups and plate of the crackers in one hand while the other had a mug of instant coffee.

  “You don’t need to stay up,” Castiel admonished half-heartedly, trying to place the exhaustion of his mate over his own need of his Alpha’s comfort. Dean said nothing, and merely handed him the tray.

  “My Omega,” was all he said, before taking a deep drink of his coffee and climbing into the bed beside Castiel.

He gently tugged Castiel into sitting between his legs and resting his back against Dean’s chest, such that if he turned his head, he would have the immediate availability of Dean’s scent gland at his nose. Castiel smiled, nuzzling against Dean’s jaw briefly before he sipped the ginger brew, tentatively waiting to see if it would stay down, and was immensely relieved when it did. He drank a little more, then dug into the crackers with gusto.

Dean’s body was warm and solid at his back, and Castiel could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, a reassurance along with the steady thump of his heart beating mutedly against Castiel’s shoulder blade. This was the kind of morning he hadn’t realized he’d been looking forward to: not running into the toilet one floor downstairs to puke in an effort not to wake up Dean, and hiding his nausea behind one hand clamped over his mouth. It had been a kind of torture to keep it all a secret, and now that Dean knew… he was being pampered and cared for in a way he hadn’t been willing to imagine.

  “I love you,” Castiel smiled, and turned his neck to take a deep breath of his Alpha’s soothing scent.

His smile turned into a grin when he saw that Dean had actually fallen asleep, head resting against the wooden headboard of their bed, mouth wide open and he was even snoring softly. His arms had gone slack and he’d thankfully drained his coffee before letting it tip over on their bed, saving them a change of sheets. Castiel, unable to resist, licked one of the most sensitive spots on his Alpha’s body: the bond bite.

Dean awakened with a violent jerk of his body, nearly upsetting the tray Castiel had balanced on his knees and wrapping his arms around Castiel’s torso with an uncomfortable amount of strength.

  “Cas?” Dean blinked once, twice once he realized where he was, what he was doing, who he was with.

Castiel winced at the pressure Dean’s arms were exerting on his ribcage, and Dean sensed his discomfort, releasing him immediately and apologizing profusely.

  “It’s okay,” Castiel grinned. “It’s my fault anyway.”  

Dean narrowed his eyes as he recalled what had woken him up. “Damn right it is.”

Castiel laughed, and Dean’s frown evaporated into an exasperated smile at the sound of his mate’s happiness.

This moment still felt a little too much like a dream, a little unbelievable. The events of yesterday came flooding back, and Dean found himself absently rubbing Castiel’s still-flat abdomen, as if he was subconsciously afraid that this wasn’t real. He was afraid that Lucifer wasn’t downstairs in the West wing, sleeping in the room where Castiel had spent his first heat on his arrival at the pack house. He was afraid that he’d changed his mind about challenging Michael. He was afraid that Castiel would change his mind about keeping the pup, the little life growing under his hands right now.

  “I know,” Castiel could sense his inner turmoil, and his expression was one of mutual understanding. “I know.”

He placed his own slim and pale hands over Dean’s freckled and larger ones, nosing against Dean’s neck. The sun was rising over the horizon now, casting light across the land, bright and beautiful like the hope that had taken root in their hearts. There was still a great deal of troublesome affairs to take care of, like planning their next step and worrying about whether Michael had already deployed people to come hunt them down. There was still the unthinkable possibility that their plan would not end well, and Michael would still win, but with Lucifer on their side and the probable support of the advisory council, there was hope. And it dawned wonderful and warm, just like the morning sunlight that poured through their windows, illuminating their futures with glowing possibilities.

* * *

They shared the rest of Castiel’s crackers and Dean waited for Castiel to finish the rest of his ginger brew before climbing out of bed to get ready for another day that was a little different from most of their other days.

Dean usually had to tease Castiel to get out of bed, and Castiel would stubbornly refuse to, being the terribly _not-_ morning person that he was. They would bicker a while, and then Castiel would doze off until Dean hauled him out of bed using a variety of maneuvers that did not exclude tickling, manhandling and most favorably, _sex_.

This morning, however, had started a little out of the ordinary with Castiel waking up before Dean, albeit for the purposes of morning sickness. They got dressed and Dean held Castiel’s hand when they went downstairs, mind rubbing up against the Omega’s through their bond and feeling Castiel respond in kind, if a little shyly. The both of them were hopeful and happy, if wary of the ominously close conflict that hovered just around the corner. Dean still had shadows under his eyes, as did Castiel, but they were beaming and cheerful as they entered the kitchen. Ellen was already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with the assistance of a full jug of hot coffee, and she had the stoves going with skillets of breakfast foods on the way. She smiled at the pair, happy that they were happy, when the previous day had been tumultuous to say the least. She knew there was something that they were hiding, and Missouri wouldn’t tell her what she’d guessed (Missouri always guessed right, which was why most of the pack had taken to excluding her from their betting), but John had told her that the two of them would tell the whole pack when the time was right. After that, she’d had an inkling of what it might be, and the very thought of it filled her with delight. When Castiel and Dean entered the kitchen, it was the first thing that came to mind, and it exited her mouth just as swiftly with disarming straightforwardness.

  “Hey, Cas,” she handed him a plate of toast, all nonchalance and straightforwardness. “You pupped yet?”

The way the pair of them froze for just that _one_ second was just hilarious, and she grinned, because that told her all she needed to know.

  “Dammit, Ellen,” Dean growled, flopping into a chair with more force than utterly necessary. “No telling the others.”

  “Oh, please,” Ellen flicked a hand dismissively before fisting it back on her hip. “Don’t be stupid. The two of you are going to give the game away all by yourselves at the rate you’re going. Besides, why’s it all hush-hush? It’s something to be happy about!”

  “Well…” Dean exchanged a look with Castiel, who hesitated, then nodded, chewing his lower lip nervously. “We weren’t actually intending to keep the pup until yesterday.”

Ellen felt her jaw drop, and it was a damn good thing she wasn’t holding her spatula because then it would have fallen on her foot. The very idea that Dean would be okay with Castiel not keeping the pup was ludicrous and unbelievable. Dean’s appearance belied his incredible love and wealth of patience with kids, and it was made apparent in the way he helped raised Sam after their mom and died and helped take care of Jo when she’d been born. Even after Sam became a tetchy adolescent who insisted on being able to take care of himself and Jo grew from a placid infant into an impetuous toddler with pigtails, Dean demonstrated an amazing imperturbability nonetheless. Ellen could see him being a great father to his own kids, and had prayed to Fenris that the Lycan deity would make that vision a reality. She could imagine Dean being excited and hyped up when his mate announced a pup on the way, but would never have thought that he would even consider getting rid of it. It just seemed so…wrong.

  “Why not?” it was nothing short of a remarkable feat that she could find her voice, or at least enough of it to manage to ask.

  “Cas was afraid that I might die in the upcoming conflict,” Dean explained, rubbing Castiel’s back to show he didn’t blame the Omega, who had bowed his head in what Ellen assumed to be shame. “He didn’t want to risk a broken bond and miscarrying the pup after that.”

And Ellen understood. It had been hard for her to conceive, being a Beta, but when she did, it had been a miracle. She and Bill, her mate, had celebrated Jo’s birth and good health for all of Jo’s life. Then Bill had died, and the bond was broken. Being Betas, the bond had never been strong to begin with, so Ellen hadn’t felt the loss quite as acutely as John had when he’d lost his Omega, Mary. But she felt it nevertheless, and she had spent days lying in bed, crying endlessly. It was during then that Dean had showcased his incredible skills in the department of childcare, juggling both a young Sammy and a woebegone toddler Jo while Ellen grieved and John worked. Of course, being just a teenager himself, Dean wasn’t exactly the best when it came to cooking, and the two children had been sustained on the most atrocious diet that Ellen had ever heard of.

  “So what made you two change your mind?” she asked, leaning back against the stove while the bacon and eggs cook. Her mind was already running through the list of healthy and appropriate foods for pregnant Lycans, compiling and organizing a meal plan for Castiel.

  “Lucifer,” Castiel said simply.

Ellen raised both eyebrows.

  “Castiel said he’d keep the pup on one condition,” Dean shrugged, but his face was all dopey happiness. “If Lucifer showed up and agreed to challenge Michael, because then the chances of me getting killed would be reduced.”

That made sense. Having Lucifer on their side to formally challenge Michael for the throne would be a more diplomatic approach, albeit an aggressive one. Ellen nodded in acknowledgement of that logic, and internally applauded Castiel for it. It must not have been an easy decision to make, what with the Omega’s natural instincts to protect their unborn pups at all costs and provide offspring for their Alphas, along with the high possibility that Lucifer might not have come to their aid. It was a rational one, and given how Lycans were practically almost always ruled by their instincts, it was an impressive one.

  “So when are you guys going to tell the rest?” Ellen served up more food, making sure the bacon was thoroughly cooked and dishing out more of the scrambled eggs for Castiel. “You’re not actually planning on hiding it until Cas’ scent changes or he starts showing, are you?”

  “We’ll tell when Cas wants to,” Dean answered, shovelling food into his mouth. Ellen felt a flash of pride, as she always did when Dean exhibited respect for Omegas.

  “I’m thinking of telling when there’s a better plan formulated,” Castiel told Ellen thoughtfully, reaching for the bacon first. “I don’t want to spring this on them when they’re still in the midst of planning. It might upset their focus.”

  “Actually, I think it'd motivate them,” Ellen pointed out. “You know, give them another reason to fight harder.”

Castiel deliberated it over a mouthful of bacon, and pursed his lips in careful consideration. He swallowed and was about to reply when the Jo and Benny loped in, followed by a very cranky looking Rufus and Bobby. They sat down at the table, oblivious to the conversation that their entrance had interrupted, and John walked in not long after, heading straight for the coffee pot. The silence that filled the air was uncharacteristically awkward; Ellen gave a pointed cough and turned back to the stove to cater to the growing number at the table, while Castiel and Dean resumed their eating with a little more gusto than usual.

  “Is there something going on that you’re not telling us about?” Jo asked bluntly.

Castiel and Dean froze comically again, and they exchanged looks: Dean’s was sanguine, while Castiel’s was nervous, but the Omega nodded anyway. Dean’s face brightened, and he turned to face the pack members.

  “We’re going to have a pup,” Dean announced proudly, slipping an arm around Castiel’s waist.

The silence morphed from an awkward one into one of absolute shock, and it was broken by a shriek of unmitigated glee from Jo, whose chair was scraped back so she pull the two mates into a tight hug. Benny recovered after her, and got up to give Dean that manly one-armed hug thing with an extra clap on the back thrown in to express his congratulations. Bobby and Rufus did the same, because anything more than that would be unmasculine and out of character for them.

  “You bastard!” Jo yelled, punching Dean’s shoulder with a huge grin. “How could you not tell us?”

Not wanting to go through the whole story now, Dean just shrugged. “Waiting for the right time, I guess.”

  “Is that why you two were upset yesterday?” Benny asked in quiet aside.

Dean gave a short nod, and Benny accepted it without asking further. Dean appreciated it, but Jo wasn’t quite as easy to placate, and her mother had to intervene before Dean did something drastic to shut her up. The rest of the pack poured in, and the news was repeated, congratulations were given, explanations demanded, and none were given. Sam was accused of tearing up, which he vehemently denied, and promised an explanation later in private. Breakfast was a celebratory affair, and toasts were made with mugs of coffee, cups of tea and glasses of juice. Then the pack was summoned to order by an ever-pragmatic John, and discussions for their next course of action were underway. Dean brought up the idea of shifting to a more hidden, defensible location at the base of the mountain, and was pleased when Castiel’s condition spurred the pack into unanimous acquiscence. They decided the sooner they move, the better, and everyone dispersed to pack their essentials. The plan was to head out by late afternoon, so they’d reach the mountain and set up camp by nightfall.

Dean insisted on doing most of the heavy lifting for Castiel, which was basically everything. When Castiel started to pack their clothes, Dean argued that he should lie down and rest. The dirty look Castiel gave him made Dean irrationally hard, which prompted a quick but passionate round of lovemaking, but he’d stood firm when Castiel tried to carry one of their packs, and took both on his own back. The pack assembled in the living den with all their luggage, with Charlie being ordered to leave behind her books and Balthazar being advised that he really didn’t need that many clothes.

  “Cas, you ride Alapmi,” Dean instructed, tone brooking no argument. “Put the heavier packs on the other horses. Let’s go!”

The journey went at a steady pace, but they were slower than Dean had estimated, and by the time they’d cleared the forest and reached the rockier ground of the mountain base, the last few rays of the sun were fading from the sky. Castiel was annoyed with Dean for making him ride Alapmi when he wasn’t even showing yet, and he showed his frustration by refusing to let Dean help him off the horse. His Alpha just chuckled, infuriating him even more. The pack hurried to set up camp in a few of the caves that were carved into the foot of the mountain by nature and time while there was still a bit of sunlight showing the way, and kindled fires to keep away wild beasts from the forests who might be foolish enough to show interest in a pack of Lycans.

Throughout the journey, a question had been needling at the back of Castiel’s mind, and he’d observed Lucifer’s quietness all the way. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for his older brother to be so taciturn and calm, but there was an issue he’d been meaning to ask ever since they’d reunited in the Winchester’s pack house. He got his chance to ask it when Dean finally turned his back to address the pack regarding tomorrow’s schedule. Lucifer was sitting near the mouth of one of the caves, expression far away and posture brooding. He turned his head when Castiel approached, however, and smiled affectionately.

  “What’s up, Cassie?” Lucifer asked as Castiel gingerly sat down next to him, mindful of the sharp rocks that alluded to the lack of traffic around the mountain base.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask what happened to you these last twelve years,” Castiel said without preamble, watching his older brother’s reaction. “I wanted to know what became of you when Michael exiled you, and why you’ve not spoken about Lilith since we met, even though you know I’m fond of her.”

Lucifer’s expression was unchanged except for the fading of his smile and the hardening of his blue eyes. They were the exact same shade as Castiel’s, but in that moment they looked darker with an anger that had been suppressed by years of practice rather than control.

  “I was wondering when you were going to ask, actually,” Lucifer’s laugh was humorless and brittle, then his voice turned cold and emotionless, like he was reciting someone else’s story. “When Michael exiled me, I thought it was worse than receiving a death sentence. I had nothing to my name, not even a reputation. I left Eden, going by the name of ‘Nick’ to hide my shameful identity as an exiled prince, and went to retrieve Lilith from her village. We’d exchanged vows, and mated, but we hadn’t exchanged bond bites yet. I wanted to at least inform Michael of my decision before doing it, out of some semblance of respect, you know? He’d been so keen on me getting married to some ice queen like Rachel, just so he could make more friends with other royal farts—“ this sounded all too familiar to Castiel’s ears, and it horrified him to know that Michael had actually tried to force it on his other siblings, that it wasn’t just him “—and he was downright _pissed_ when I was dead set on making Lilith my mate. He actually got in a few punches before he exiled me. When I reached Lilith’s home, I was too late; Michael had already gotten his revenge.”

Castiel’s blood turned cold. “What do you mean? Did he—“

  “He had his soldiers rape her and then cut out her heart,” Lucifer’s voice was dead, and his hands were clenched so tightly, his knuckles strained white against the skin. “And then they used her blood to write my name all over the walls.”

Castiel wasn’t sure he was breathing, and his eyes were wide with sickened incredulity. He knew Michael was cruel, but this was… this was just savage. Monstrous.

  “If I’d thought to sneak back into the palace stables and take my horse,” Lucifer said hoarsely, and with the aid of the moonlight, Castiel could see tears tracking down his cheeks, shimmering like pearls of sadness made corporeal. “I would have been able to save her. We could have been like you and Dean now, with maybe half a dozen pups thrown in. I could have been a father. She could have been a mother. We could have been happy.”

  “And you still love Michael? Even though he took all that away from you?” Castiel recalled Lucifer’s reaction to Dean’s suggestion of overthrowing Michael, and was filled with disbelief. If he’d been in Lucifer’s position and Michael had done that to Dean…bond or no bond, Castiel would have gone back and killed Michael himself, consequences be damned.

Lucifer took a deep, shuddering breath. When he spoke again, his voice was wry. “Family is family, Castiel. Perhaps if I’d exchanged bond bites with Lilith, then yes, I would have _loathed_ Michael. I would have despised him and plotted his demise. But I hadn’t, so I didn’t. I grieved, I cried, I tried to hate. And I should have had every reason to hate Michael. But the thought of killing him…there was no broken bond to goad me into taking extreme measures. The thought of killing him made me sick. So I moved on as best as I could, and learned how to enjoy my exile rather than see it as a punishment. Sometimes I even thanked Michael for exiling me, even if I could never quite find it in me to forgive him for Lilith’s death.”

Castiel was silent, and Lucifer hastily wiped away his tears during that interval. A hearbeat passed, and then Castiel’s arms were around his older brother’s shoulders, offering his condolences and his sympathy. Lucifer was startled, but then he was leaning into Castiel’s pregnancy-stimulated warmth, and his muffled sobs was the only noise in the chilly night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it! Tell me just how much you love it, and I'll tell you just how much I love you for loving it!
> 
> Fifi, do you still think Lucie is sketchy? (waggles eyebrows)


	22. Some Time Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack braces for a fight, but is it coming to them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically skimming over the timespan of about 4 months, give or take, and I actually wanted to just jump straight into the fray with '4 months later' as a heading, but someone once told me that it wasn't very nice. So I decided to succinctly describe the gist of what happened over those 4 months, with fluff thrown in. This is basically an interlude leading up to the big fight.

The week following the pack’s move into the mountains was a week of upheaval. The pack had some difficulty adapting to their temporary residence, most involving the lack of convenient plumbing and gas. Dean orderered patrols on a rotation of three shifts a day, and nightwatch was a must. His actions borderlined on overprotectiveness, but he remained reasonable and insisted on taking shifts himself so it wouldn’t just be the pack running themselves ragged. The only ones exempt from keeping vigil were Kevin and Castiel, both of whom Dean was adamant about staying out of sight lest there was a fight at their doorstep. When Castiel demanded to know if it was because of the pup, Dean shook his head and said it was because both he and Kevin weren’t as adept at brawling as the others. That appeased Castiel, and despite his initial protest, it was a relief to not have to patrol on a queasy stomach when his morning sickness refused to let up.

When the week passed with no sign of Michael’s scouts on the perimeter, Dean was both relieved _and_ frustrated. He was glad that there seemed to be no encroaching on his territory, but he was impatient for Michael to make the first move, so he could declare that whatever he did in retaliation was self-defense. As a result, he was irritable and cranky, and could only be chastised into calming down by John and Castiel, the former because he was still Dean’s Alpha by blood and the latter because Dean was weak for his Omega, particularly when said Omega was carrying his much-desired pups. That being said, the Omega’s girth became a great concern and delight for Dean, who would spend most of his free time rubbing Castiel’s stomach and was convinced that it was already swelling. To be fair, it _was_ swelling a little, but in the ‘I ate too much for dinner’ kind of way. Even when Castiel voiced that particular opinion, his Alpha didn’t seem to care and continued to dote on his belly. When Dean got grouchy, the pack promptly saw fit to drag Castiel into his line of sight and Dean’s bad temper would evaporate into besotted adoration. Castiel would end up sitting on Dean’s lap for hours with a long-suffering expression, reading a book or just discussing their next plan of action with the Alpha. Sometimes Castiel would give in, and the pair would retire to their own cave to cuddle (Charlie, Benny, Balthazar and Jo were absolutely sure it was another way of saying that Dean and Castiel were having super hot pregnant sex, but pure-hearted Garth insisted they were really just cuddling, and Kevin didn’t even want to think about anyone having sex).

Then Linda got impatient as well, and she put her foot down about heading into Eden to see what was going down there. She took Kevin along under the guise of seeking out the best tutor for her son, preferably one who had tutored the children of nobility, and left two weeks after the pack’s relocation into the mountains. That may or may not have also been an excuse to find a functional bathroom that didn’t involve pissing in the bushes.

There was no word from Linda, who’d been seen off with the warning to stay on her toes at all times and a carrier pigeon, for nearly a week after that. By then, the pack had gotten used to making the caves their makeshift home. Castiel spent Dean’s patrol shifts exploring deeper into the caves (and being turned back by the dank and dark depths, not to mention the possibilities of poisonous spiders that might be lurking in there somewhere), around the mountain base (he nearly came too close to a bear’s den, and was fortunate that there was no bear present at the time to catch his trespassing. He didn’t mention it to Dean lest the Alpha forbid him from going off on his own), catching up with Lucifer when he wasn’t helping out with patrols, helping Ellen and Missouri with some of the basic chores like washing the pack’s clothes, and keeping up his apprenticeship with Pamela.

His relationship with Pamela had been a bit awkward since she’d figuratively arm-twisted Castiel into telling Dean about the pregnancy, but over lessons on how to brew mashed ginger for Castiel’s nausea and some check-ups on Castiel’s condition and the pup, they soon returned to their easy-going companionship. Pamela offered advice on which herbs and plants to avoid close proximity with, which was almost all of Pamela’s stock, and informed him that the overconsumption of tea was not going to be good for the pup. He was also told to stay far, far away from caffeine, which made him crabbier than ever in the mornings.

The second full moon since Castiel’s joining up with the pack came and went, and Dean took the pack out on a hunt. He refused to let Castiel join because Ellen had told him that raw meat wasn’t good for the unborn pup, and might contain diseases that would increase the chances of miscarriage. Castiel sulked, until Dean purposefully came back early from the hunt with a fistful of wildflowers and plenty of energy from the full moon to have scream-inducing, sheet-tearing and hot sex till dawn. The pack complained about having to put up with their racket, but Dean just grinned cheekily and Castiel turned so red he might as well have been a tomato.

Then the first letter from Linda came, about five weeks after she’d left with Kevin, and the news that she’d managed to glean by both manipulative busybodying and harsh interrogating was none too encouraging. She reported that Michael had withdrawn into his palace, and had issued no edicts or made any appearances since the rumors of a spy being sent by Metatron to infiltrate his palace (Balthazar snickered madly at that) had hit the gossip mill in town. Eden was edging on mass hysteria, with thieves and murderers convinced that they were now free to terrorize the innocent and soldiers nowhere in sight, having been commanded to retreat behind palace walls on the rumored purpose of protecting their king from Metatron’s spies. There was no word about Michael’s plans for further conquest, no hint that he might be coming after them. Just Michael’s paranoia and his neglect of the kingdom. The only positive implication of all this was that the advisory council would be more interested in finding another ruler who wasn’t quite so deranged.

Dean sent the carrier pigeon back with a message lacking signature to avoid giving it away, telling Linda to keep her eyes and ears open, and to stay safe and out of Michael’s way. Then he called for a pack meeting, and discussed whether or not to venture into Eden and have Lucifer issue a challenge for the throne. Some, including Lucifer, were more on the cautious side, suggesting that they wait it out and see if Michael’s paranoia backfired and ultimately turned even the people against him. Then there would be a revolt, and everyone would welcome a new king on the throne so long as it wasn’t Michael. Others, like Dean, were fed up with making their home in the inconvenience of the mountains and wanted to carry out their plan so they could go back to the pack house. Eventually, they compromised and agreed to return to the pack house, and wait for Michael’s megalomania to erupt and rebound on him so that they could strike at the most opportune time. They kept up rotational patrols on the borders of the pack’s land, in deference to Dean’s stubborn belief that there might still be a threat coming to their territory.

Castiel, glad to be able to avoid conflict for just a little while longer so he could keep Dean close, had never been so excited to be sleeping on an actual bed rather than a thin bedroll that didn’t buffer the millions of tiny rocks on the cave floor digging into his increasingly-sensitive body. Most of the pack shared the sentiment, and Dean’s reluctance about abandoning the defensibility of the mountain caves was conciliated by Castiel’s enthusiastic gratitude.

While weeks passing meant coming closer to the inevitable affray, it also meant Castiel’s pregnancy progressing and the pup getting bigger. By the time two more letters from Linda came, both of which reporting not much change in Eden since her first message, Castiel’s stomach was beginning to look more like a pregnancy bump than a food baby. Dean could be seen with hands roaming Castiel’s now distended abdomen with absentminded affection almost all the time now, and the pack’s protective instincts to keep their pack Alpha’s mate safe kicked in at full blast. Castiel was reprimanded for carrying any more than two books at a time, was nagged constantly to stay off his feet, and was never allowed out of the pack house without a member of the pack guarding him. It was asinine, over the top, ridiculous and Castiel demonstrated as much by holing up in the West wing, sometimes with Lucifer, sometimes not, and always locking the door. This drove Dean mad with worry that he might have tripped in the small confines of the room or had some accident that would result in grievous harm to both Castiel and the pup. Pamela laughed at the whole fracas, and took Castiel aside when things got to a fever pitch and Dean started getting feral about anyone getting close to his mate when even he couldn’t be.

“There are worse things than an overprotective pack and an overprotective mate, Cas,” Pamela winked one of her unseeing, milky white eyes, smiling at Castiel’s left ear.

That humbled Castiel somewhat, dredging up the memories of a time when he’d been convinced that he’d be mated to an Alpha whose only concern was to fuck him and get him pregnant with an Alpha child, and he relented. It wasn’t much of a surrender so much as it was a relief to have Dean at his beck and call, pampering him and cosseting him all the time. It was just as well, since cravings had begun to kick in and Castiel’s ankles were starting to get swollen and red when he so much as took a trip to the bathroom. Dean would rush down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to make pickles with melted brown sugar drizzled on it, rub his ankles until his wrists were stiff and carried Castiel to the toilet so he could tinkle. Then there were the moments of peace, when they just forgot that they were on tenterhooks, waiting to fight a battle that may very well cost them their lives should things go bad, and they just cuddled and thought of names for their pup.

  “How about ‘Richard’, if it’s a boy?” Castiel suggested, reclining on their bed with Dean spooning him from behind and his hands under Castiel’s, rubbing slow circles on his gravid stomach. He’d never mention it out loud, but it felt good and it calmed the pup inside, who was beginning to find it amusing to keep his bearer up all night with antics that included but was not limited to: bouncing up and down on his bladder, doing somersaults and hiccuping for absolutely no reason.

  “And condemn my son to the nickname of ‘Dick’?” Dean’s nose wrinkled. “Over my dead body. What about ‘Tyler’?”

Castiel pondered the name, rolling it on his tongue before shaking his head. The pup in his dreams with his hair and Dean’s eyes didn’t strike him as a ‘Tyler’, and he shook his head.

  “ ‘George’?” Dean offered.

The head-shaking got a little more vigorous.

  “ ‘Dennis’?”

Castiel just gave him a look that said ‘ _are you even trying?’_. Dean grinned, and shrugged. “I don’t see you making any suggestions.”

The sweet images of that dream came rushing back, animated by Castiel’s imagination, and the little boy with hair as black as a raven’s wing and eyes like the green glass bottle John kept his ale in was screaming with laughter in his mind, soundless by his lack of inspiration. He had rosy cheeks, a grin reminiscent of Dean’s, and eyes that betrayed an intelligence beyond his years. Castiel could hear himself calling the pup’s name, and it sounded like…

  “Ethan,” Castiel murmured.

Dean pursed his lips in consideration, no doubt testing the name in his head, and smiled. He nuzzled Castiel’s bond bite, and kissed his temple. “It’s perfect. What if it’s a girl?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’ll be a boy, though,” Castiel frowned, the dream too vivid to be anything but a prediction of the future.

Dean burst out laughing. “Want to place your bet? I’m betting on a girl, and so is Benny, Bobby, John, Garth and Lucifer.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Doesn’t John want an Alpha boy?”

  “This one is definitely not going to be an only child,” Dean smooched his ear. “My dad doesn’t really care. He just wants a grandpup to spoil rotten.”

Castiel felt some of the pressure ease off his chest; he’d been worried about the disappointment if he wound up bearing a pup that was Beta or Omega. His mother’s disappointment when he’d presented as an Omega had been immense and bone-deep, so it was no wonder it had rubbed off on him. Castiel would have loved any pup of his and Dean’s, no matter what their secondary gender was, but there had always been that burden weighing on the back of his mind that his firstborn should be an Alpha male.

  “Since you want a girl, you name her,” Castiel smiled, stroking the back of Dean’s hand with his thumb. At roughly eleven weeks (by Pamela’s count), he looked like he’d swallowed a young muskmelon. Pamela had expressed some surprise when she last performed a checkup, saying that the pup was either growing fast or it was very well fed (which would explain Castiel’s increased appetite), and she had to reassure both him and Dean that there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “I like… ‘Emma’,” Dean decided. “ ‘Emma Winchester’. It has a nice ring to it.”

  “It does, but I’m telling you,” Castiel grinned gleefully. “It’s going to be a boy.”

  “I put a week’s worth of dinner cleanup duty in the pot,” Dean arched an eyebrow. “Care to make _your_ bet, Mr. I-Know-Better?”

  “First of all, I _do_ know better,” Castiel replied smugly. “I’m the one carrying the pup. And secondly, I don’t have very much to offer.”

Dean considered that, and a glint appeared in his eyes. “How about you do what I say for a week?”

Castiel mimicked Dean’s eyebrow arching. “What does that involve me doing?”

  “You’ll see,” Dean said airily, then laughed at Castiel’s wary expression. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. Well, nothing _that_ bad.”

  “I have my boundaries,” Castiel warned, but he snuggled back against Dean’s chest once more. “What about middle names?”

  “You wanted ‘Ethan’, right? How about ‘Ethan Jude Winchester’?”

  “Why ‘Jude’?”

Dean looked away evasively, and Castiel stared at him pointedly until he admitted defeat to those big blue eyes that wouldn’t quit boring a hole into him. “My mom used to sing this song called ‘Hey Jude’ to me and Sam when we were kids. It calmed us down all the time. I figured it’s one way to remember her by, since ‘Mary’ isn’t a good middle name for a guy.”

The set of his shoulders was all defensiveness and self-justifying, as if bracing himself for Castiel to reject the notion. But Castiel liked it, and he liked the sentimentality behind it. He told Dean so, and the Alpha relaxed, kissing Castiel’s bond bite to show his gratitude even though the Omega could feel it through their bond itself.

  “If it’s a girl (which I am telling you, it is _not_ ), we’ll call her ‘Emma Mary Winchester’,” Castiel said, lifting Dean’s knuckles to his lips and kissing it lightly. Dean’s body jerked behind him, and Castiel quickly craned his neck to see what was wrong. His jaw dropped when he saw his Alpha sucking his lips between his teeth and resolutely trying _not_ to cry. “Dean? What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

Dean shook his head emphatically, and buried his face in the place where he’d bitten Castiel.

Later he would blame it on dust, allergies, whatever excuse he could think of. But there was no doubting it that when he finally got up to take his shift for patrolling, there was a wet patch on Castiel’s shoulder. And Castiel wouldn’t tell anyone about it, but he’d heard Dean repeatedly saying ‘thank you’, even though it’d been muffled and choked by his effort to suppress actual sobbing.

So that was one thing ticked off the list of things-to-do: their pup was either going to be Ethan Jude Winchester, or Emma Mary Winchester. And they were going to be meeting them in just 20 more weeks. If only Michael could hold off on picking a fight with them for just that long.

* * *

Linda’s fourth letter came when Castiel was 18 weeks along with the pup, and his belly had swelled to the size of the orange autumnal squash Ellen used to make thick, creamy soup. His hips had begun to ache under the weight of the pup, and Pamela was still frowning over the abnormally large size of it. According to her past experience, pups at this stage should be the size of a grapefruit (Castiel had tried one before, back when he had the menu of all of Eden’s produce, and it was a horribly sour fruit). It would have worried Castiel, if not for the constant backaches, tender hips, throbbing ankles and the perpetual urget to pee. His Omegan hormones were driving him insane, making him cry over a crease in the spine of a book that was at least twenty years old and alternatively scream at Dean for putting white sugar on his cucumber slices when the brown ran out (he apologized afterwards, but Dean didn’t mind; the Alpha actually had the nerve to chuckle. Cheek!). On top of all that, his breasts were swelling and his nipples were turning a darker shade of red, occasionally even leaking, which mortified Castiel to no end when it soaked two dark patches in his shirt at the dinner table one evening. Sometimes he got heartburn, and intermittently experienced false labor. The latter drove Dean crazy with concern, and he was often rushing to Pamela’s in the middle of the night when Castiel complained of irregular cramping waking him up.

All in all, Castiel was a grouchy, waddling, pup-heavy Omega with a temper that shortened by the day by the time Linda sent the carrier pigeon back a fourth time.

  “It says Michael is cracking down on the townsfolk,” Dean read the letter aloud to the pack, who had gathered in the living den to hear the news. Castiel had Dean’s armchair all to himself, and had half a mind on the letter, the other half on deciding or not whether to get up for another trip to the toilet.

  “He’s ordered a curfew in every district of Eden, and has soldiers patrolling and randomly interrogating the citizens,” Dean continued, expression grim. “Sometimes the soldiers let their authority go to their head and they harass the citizens. Michael is still a no-show, and Linda says she’s going to get out before they can start putting up checkpoint barricades at the citadel gates.”

  “Is this it, then?” Lucifer asked softly, after a long pause as the pack digested the news.

He’d fit in surprisingly well with the pack over the last few weeks, taking his fair share of patrol shifts, doing cleanup after every Sunday lunch, accompanying Castiel when Dean was occupied. For an Alpha, Lucifer was unusually subdued and discreet, and that had triggered Dean’s suspicion until Castiel explained what had happened to Lucifer’s intended and how he’d spent the last twelve years without a pack. He was a loner, by circumstance rather than nature, and his Alpha tendencies had been suppressed by a buildup of adaptation to a life without a pack to boss around. Personality-wise, he was almost the same as a Beta.

  “I’d say yeah,” Bobby grunted.

The pack responded with very little enthusiasm, compared to those few months ago when Castiel was still hiding the pregnancy and the pack was raring for a fight. There was much more at stake now, and they were dealing with a very difficult, unpredictable, power-obsessed megalomaniac. As an Alpha, it was hard for Dean to leave Castiel behind when his Omega was so obviously gravid. And the pack instinctively responded to their Alpha’s needs, which made them just as unwilling to leave Castiel defenseless while they went to fight on the frontlines.

Castiel, on the other hand, getting where this was all going, felt his hormones begin to induce tears. His bright blue eyes swum with tears, and it prompted Dean to hurry over and gather Castiel into his arms. The Omega let his tears soak Dean’s shoulder, crying softly at the thought of Dean leaving him alone, risking his life for a better, safer future for Castiel and their pup. Dean should be by his side, especially this late into the pregnancy, with only a little over three months left to go. There was too much to fret about, too much to be anxious over.

  “I’ll have two of the pack stay with you,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s hair, oblivious to the pack still present in the living den, watching them. “Pam is a given. Who else do you want?”

  “You,” Castiel choked. What a stupid question.

  “You know I can’t,” Dean hugged him a little tighter, tone wistful. “You want Sammy?”

Sam was a good fighter, even for a bookworm, and although he couldn’t provide the same amount of comfort as Dean’s Alpha pheromones, he possessed the same inherent scent tones as his older brother, and that would help somewhat. Castiel nodded, still wishing Dean could stay with him.

His desire was conveyed across the bond, and Dean scooped him up into his arms with a little more effort than usual, thanks to the added weight of their fast-growing pup. He turned to address the pack before carrying Castiel upstairs to bed to calm the Omega.

  “I want us ready to leave by dawn tomorrow,” Dean instructed. “Ellen, pack the supplies. Benny, Jo, see if you can get the weapons in the backroom into decent condition. Charlie, Lucifer, put our case together so we have something to declare when we reach the city.”

They all nodded, except for John, who inclined his head with pride for his son shining in his eyes. Sam looked a little put-out about not getting to fight, but he understood that protecting Castiel on Dean’s behalf was a job just as important as fighting Michael, if not more so since Castiel was carrying Dean’s pup.

Once they were upstairs, Dean gently laid his beloved burden on the bed, fingers stroking down the length of his swollen belly as he let go to climb in beside Castiel. The blue-eyed Omega was still hiccuping with sobs, and he clung to the front of Dean’s shirt while the both of them lay on their sides, waiting out his tears.

  “I can’t let you go,” Castiel whispered, voice hoarse from crying. His fingers literally could not and would not release their grip on Dean’s shirt. “Don’t make me let you go.”

  “You’re not letting me go,” Dean cupped his cheek and kissed his lips lightly, parting just a hair’s breadth so his words were a warm gust of breath against Castiel’s face. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t go,” Castiel cried, burying his face in Dean’s chest, wondering if this was going to be the last time he could do it, praying that it wouldn’t be. “Please. You said we could run away. Take a ship. Go somewhere far away.”

  “And have to look over our shoulders for the rest of our life and abandon the guy who saved both our lives to get us where we are today?” Dean murmured, stroking the back of Castiel’s head. “You wouldn’t be able to live like that, love. You and I both know it. We have to finish this.”

  “Don’t leave me alone,” Castiel felt the tears stinging his already red eyes once more, and his voice was trembling. “Don’t leave _us_ alone.”

  “I’ll come back,” Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s forehead, a gesture of affection Castiel had taken days to get accustomed to, and now realized he wanted it everyday for the rest of his life, as long as it meant that Dean was by his side. “I’ll come back, and I’ll hold your hand when you bring our pup into this world, and I’ll give you more. I’ll grow old with you, and we’ll sit on that front porch and bicker about which grandpup looks more like which one of us, and we’ll look back fondly on this time as nothing more than a pothole in our journey.”

Castiel was full-on crying now, and his breath came in heavy, sobbing gasps. Dean made shushing, soothing noises, rubbing slow circles into Castiel’s back and his other hand canvassing the bump where their pup kicked back against his palm. It reminded him of the first time he’d felt the pup move inside Castiel weeks ago. Castiel’s face was alight with delight and anticipation, and he’d held Dean’s hand to the same spot where he’d felt the kick just seconds earlier. It took a while, but then their pup punched Dean’s palm, as if defiant and irritable. The magnitude of the joy Dean had felt practically bowled him over, and he hadn’t realized that he was actually crying. He blamed it on dust, allergies, cat hair (even though there wasn’t a cat around for _miles_ ), and Castiel just smiled that maddening, knowing smile of his that made Dean want to bend him over and fuck his brains out. It was moments like those that gave Dean the motivation and the determination to press forward to have more of it.

  “Promise?” Castiel gasped between sobs, chest heaving. “Promise you’ll come back?”

Dean was starting to get worried; surely this much stress would affect the pup. He began to work on calming Castiel down, using his own scent and touch to do it. It took a while, but eventually Castiel did relax somewhat. He’d stopped crying, and was no longer struggling to breathe around sobs that wracked his body.

He pressed his lips to Castiel’s forehead, holding his precious Omega close and keeping one hand on the swell of his belly, under which their pup waited to meet them. “I promise.”

And he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: don't forget that the gestational periods of Lycans are roughly 30 weeks. And yes I am making all this shit up, in case you haven't noticed by now.
> 
> Note 2: and yes this is the calm before the storm, loves.


	23. Bittersweet Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean leaves Castiel with Sam and Pamela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! I'm afraid this is going to be a short chapter because I have a cruel love of writing (but not reading) cliffhangers. If there are an inconsistencies, do tell me!

Dinner was a sombre affair that night, with the pack uncharacteristically grave. What was even more unusual was that they were picking at their food, even though Ellen had taken the effort to make all their favourite foods (read: meat, meat, and more meat). Dean had one arm around Castiel’s waist throughout the meal, letting the Omega lean against him and nuzzle his scent gland. No one teased them for it, not when Castiel’s blue eyes were rimmed with red and he was still sniffling.

They each went to bed with a sense of ominous foreboding over their heads, with the elders like John and Missouri whispering words of desperate prayers to Fenris that they would be able to come back and lay their heads upon the same pillow. Some of the others didn’t sleep restfully, too haunted by their own fears of what might happen when they faced off with Michael. Some, like Dean and Benny, slept with what was most precious to them in their grip. An expectant mate, a necklace of a lost lover.

The next morning was a grey-skied one, incredibly fitting in light of their situation. Dean awoke with the heat of his mate’s body pressed against his front, and the notes of his mate’s gravidity intermingled with his natural scent in his nose. It made him want to bury his nose in Castiel’s neck, to lick the bond bite that marred his smooth skin. It made him want to hold on tighter to his beloved, to worship and memorize every inch of him. He wanted to engrave each detail of Castiel’s body into his mind, so that he could have something to keep him sane when they were apart.

The unblemished, soft skin that felt like delicate silk under Dean’s too-clumsy fingers. The untameable yet lustrous dark hair that seemed to defy gravity by sticking up in every which way except down. The curve of his neck, his shoulder, his cheekbones, all begging for Dean’s affection. The sweet, clear scent that inspired both wanton desire and tranquil calm in him. The swell of their pup under his hands, pulsating with life and eager to be welcomed into the world.

He carved every feature, every facet into his brain with scrupulous attention to detail. They would sustain him throughout their time spent apart, more so than food and water.

But then the sun was peering over the horizon, as if hesitating to ruin the precious moment between lovers. Dean suppressed a groan, clutching tighter at his heavily-pregnant mate, who was encumbered by his condition and didn’t stir from his deep sleep. He eventually got out, however, when he heard the rest of the pack waking and prepping for their departure. It wouldn’t do for the pack Alpha to be late, and with a reluctance that borderlined on literal dragging of his feet, he released Castiel and climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him up. It nearly drove him feral with a visceral need to get back into bed when he errantly looked back and saw Castiel inching into the wrinkled sheets where he’d been lying not seconds ago, curling around his distended middle to nestle in the traces of Dean’s scent and warmth. Getting dressed and putting on his boots when that alluring vision was right within his reach was a hellish test of his endurance, one that would continue until he came back and had the rest of their lives to wake up to better mornings. He got up and grabbed his harversack, packed last night when they were both awake, filled with ‘necessities’ that seemed superficial when none of them was what he really needed. He turned back to take one last look at his beloved, and was only faintly surprised to see Castiel’s eyes open and staring back at him with an expression that could only be described as heartbreaking.

  “You were going to leave without saying goodbye?” Castiel whispered, and Dean dropped the bag, not caring if the glass jars of emergency medical herbs inside were broken.

He knelt on the edge of the bed and pulled Castiel up into his arms, mindful of his abdomen, and kissed every part of his Omega that his lips could reach. His crown, his temple, his forehead, his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. He lingered over the last, licking at Castiel’s lower lip and delving deeper into his mouth to pull the taste of him into his own for memory’s sake. When he broke apart for air, Castiel’s eyes were half-lidded, and his lips were slick and pink from Dean’s ministrations, high color in his cheeks.

  “If you asked me to stay now,” Dean said hoarsely, his voice little more than a heavy exhalation. “I wouldn’t be able to leave.”

Castiel’s eyes filled with tears, but none of them spilled over. He cupped Dean’s face in his hands, as if trying to memorize him as Dean had. Their foreheads were touching, and their noses were grazing each other, close enough to feel the other’s breath warming their lips.

  “I won’t do that to you,” Castiel’s voice shook with the effort of hiding his sorrow. “I only ask that you’ll come back to me. To us.”

He reached for Dean’s hand and placed it over his belly, where their pup was stirring with life under their palms and could sense his parents’ distress. It responded with a flurry of punches and kicks, making Castiel wince but give a watery smile as Dean laughed breathlessly in awe at the fluttering sensation under his hand. It was nothing short of a miracle, and it physically hurt to know that there was a chance he might not be able to come back and meet their pup, to watch it grow from whelp to adult, to help raise it into an upstanding Lycan.

  “You promised, remember?” Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear escaping to run down the length of his face, shoulders trembling. “You promised to come back. Gabriel promised to come after us, and he didn’t.”

  “I’ll come back,” Dean swore, gripping Castiel’s hand in his, knowing that there was so much more at stake than just his own life. “And I’ll bring Gabriel with me, and everyone will be home safe. Lucifer will sit on the throne and rule with a fair hand, Gabriel will be at his side to keep him in check. And I’ll be back by your side before you know it.”

Castiel couldn’t speak now, too distressed and desolate to even summon his voice. Dean kissed him one last time, slow and sweet, and then he was gone.

* * *

When Castiel awoke the second time, it was with the desperate hope of someone who knows that things have gone wrong and hoped it was all just a nightmare. He remembered Dean kissing him, saying words that wouldn’t mean anything unless he came back, and leaving Castiel to cry on their bed. He reached out with his eyes closed, heart thudding painfully in his chest as he waited for it to come into contact with a warm, sleeping body.

His hand falls on cold sheets, any vestiges of Dean’s body heat already long gone. The urge to cry again is overwhelming, filling up his chest until it’s hard to breathe and all he can do is curl up around his portruding belly, rubbing it in circular strokes in an attempt to soothe both the pup and himself. Their young one is already cognizant of his surroundings, and can tell when his father is distressed or anxious. Castiel was absolutely certain that it was a boy, and judging from the strength of its movements, it was likely to be an Alpha. But whether or not the latter turned out to be otherwise, he was going to love the pup without fail. He was going to raise it to be what it was: Dean Winchester’s son, and nothing less.

He hauled himself out of bed with some difficulty, which could be attributed to the heaviness of his gravid belly. The air in the pack house was still and quiet, only a bigger reminder that most of its occupants were gone and Dean was one of them. They’d all known this day would come, when they would have to settle the score with Michael and either get their revenge or be killed getting it. All of them had been champing at the bit to restore the honor of the Winchester pack, to reclaim the land that had been sequestered from them, not caring about what was hanging in the balance. What they hadn’t factored into the equation was Castiel, Lucifer and the pup, and the cautious optimism the three of them had introduced into their perspectives.

Castiel’s heart was queasy and twisting with unease in his chest, and even though his Alpha had barely been gone for a few hours, he was already pining for Dean. He wanted to have Dean’s arm around his waist as he guided him down to the kitchen, ready to catch him should he trip, because he could no longer see his own feet. He wanted to feel Dean’s lips on his face, that soft and warm pressure imbued with the promise of a lifetime of loving. He wanted to have Dean teasing him about his latest craving, salted rye bread smeared with mashed bananas. All those wants only made the loss of Dean’s presence hurt more.

Pamela and Sam were in the kitchen when he waddled in, hips set too low and wide by the pup in his belly for any normal walking. They both looked up when he came in, though Pamela’s gaze was a little off to the right, and immediately asked how he was feeling. He gave them—well, mostly Sam—a look that told them what a stupid question it was. There was a pup on the way, and his mate was gone to lead the pack into what might turn out to be death.

And that was pretty much how the next few weeks went, with the house painfully silent without the pack filling it with noise, Castiel waking up to find that Dean was still not warming the space beside him, Pamela hiding in the basement getting ready for Castiel’s approaching due date, and Sam doing supply runs. Castiel began making a nest of Dean’s clothes on his bed to sleep in it at night, feeling comforted by the faint scent that still lingered in the fabric. He went through Dean’s belongings, looking for items that had best retained Dean’s scent, and found an old leather overcoat that Dean usually wore over his cotton utility jacket when the weather got colder. He wore it to bed, because felt like Dean was spooning him from behind, and it lulled him to sleep. If Sam had anything to say about the mess Castiel made in his own room, he wisely kept his mouth shut. A heavily-pregnant Omega separated from his mate this late into his gestational period made for one hormonal, cantankerous Lycan who would have the most extreme mood swings, and he was so volatile that he would start crying at the passing mention of Dean.

There was no word from the pack, which wasn’t odd given that they must be busy trying to get Michael off his ass and vacate the throne for Lucifer, but it was still a worry that gnawed at Castiel’s chest when he was held waiting in suspense for the outcome of all their planning. Sometimes there were moments of reprieve, like Castiel digging up a sketch of Dean and Sam as boys by John, Pamela regaining some of her sassy spunkiness to tease the boys into a good mood, Sam bringing back Castiel’s cravings and books to keep his mind off Dean. It helped, these moments, to remind Castiel that there was still a lot to be grateful for, even if there wasn’t very much to be happy about. The pup grew, and Castiel’s belly swelled even more to the point that Pamela was no longer so sure he was carrying a singular pup. The idea filled Castiel with excitement, then concern over birth complications, before relapsing into misery that Dean wasn’t here to celebrate and worry with him. It was fast becoming apparent that Dean would not be able to make it back in time for the birth, and that Castiel would have to endure it without his mate. Sam was a dear friend, but a fitting substitute for his brother he was not. That didn’t make him try any less to comfort Castiel when the Omega was overwhelmed with hormones and crazy with anxiety. He ran patrol runs twice a day, just to check that there had been no footprints indicating strangers on their territory, and to keep a peace of mind around the house.

Then one morning, when Castiel was twenty-six weeks pregnant and Dean had been gone for about 2 months, Sam left for his patrol run and didn’t come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!


	24. Somewhere Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the pack head for Eden, but there are few obstacles in the way. Dean and John reminisce about their lives in Lawrence and Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe you a chapter.

Dean knew it wasn't going to be an easy battle when they had to kill five guards just to get to one of the local inns. The fact that the inn happened to be on the outskirts of Eden's land only made the reality that they weren't going to get out of this unscathed sink in deeper. It took them a solid week just to wade their way through the thick wall of soldiers posted at every town, and by the time the barricaded main gates of the citadel and its high whitewashed walls came into view, three weeks of evading and erasing nosy soldiers had passed. They couldn’t very well sneak in through the main gates, which required _identification_ papers for access. There were no back or side gates, which left forgery via an unsavory contact that took another week and a half to complete. Getting through the main gates had been a nerve-wracking affair, their wolves always hovering near the surface at the ready for a fight.

It was so easy to pretend that things might turn out peachy when they had a plan, and the various means to put it into action, but not so much when you belatedly recalled that you were on enemy territory. Enemy territory swarming with soldiers who had no qualms about dragging you aside at random to interrogate you about your identity and the purpose of your presence here in Eden. If these soldiers were acting on Michael's orders, then Michael had truly, finally gone off the deep end of ‘paranoid’. Although given Balthazar's tricks and Dean's plans, it may not have been entirely unwarranted.

Which was probably why, when Dean accidentally told the very first guard who dragged him aside once they were in Eden that he was Dean Winchester (forgetting the circumstances of his previous departure from the city), they had to off so many guards who recognized him.

For that exact same reason, Dean was forbidden from going out and had to be left behind in the inn with Missouri when the pack went out to get food and gossip. Benny and Garth had been dispatched to go find Linda and Kevin. Missouri was too tired from the journey to even sit upright from where she'd sprawled on the dilapidated excuse of a rocker provided by the inn. Feeling a little awkward, Dean tried to keep himself busy by going through the items in his harversack. When he chanced upon an amateur sketch of Castiel he'd done just a few weeks ago, when their lives were suspended in the temporary lull of peace, he felt a longing rise up in him. It engulfed all his senses, and he desperately yearned to see his mate's bright blue eyes, feel his gravid belly where their pup was growing, smell his ripe scent, hear his laugh and taste his lips. In his desperate aching, he envisioned their future, intertwined and glowing with the happiness he'd promised Castiel over and over. His mate with pups both tumbling around his knees and in his belly, welcoming home with the affection that had been hard-earned and love shining in his eyes. He envisioned his children swarming him, tackling him and demanding that he play with them and teach them how to hunt. Whelps with a dizzyingly beautiful combination of his and Castiel's features. He was damned sure their first pup was a girl, one he would spoil and raise into a badass Beta or Omega, defying traditionalist beliefs that firstborns should be Alpha boys.

Speaking of which...

  "Missouri?" he called tentatively, unsure about disturbing the matronly Lycan that had helped care for the pack in his mother's place.

  "Hm?"

  "You didn't put in a bet on the sex of Cas' and my pup," Dean raised an eyebrow knowingly.

Missouri burst out laughing, and the way she laughed made Dean feel foolish. "Boy, you'll be doing dishes for a week."

It took him a few seconds to get the implication. "Dammit."

  "Yep," Missouri smirked. "Shoulda asked me before you put that down as your bet. I'd have told you Castiel was carrying boys."

The hateful image of him decked out in an apron with the front soaked and his arms elbow-deep in suds at the kitchen sink with two-feet high stacks of dirty dishes was slapped aside with shock when he realised what Missouri had just said.

  "Wait," Dean stared at her incredulously. "What?"

Did she just...

  "Mmhmm," she chortled. "Boys."

  "Boys as in..." Dean choked. "Plural? Like...more than one? Boys?"

Missouri gave him a look that was halfway between bemused and exasperated. "How'd you ever become pack Alpha when you got nothing but a rock pretending to be your head on those shoulders?"

Dean was too busy processing what she'd said about _boys_ to register her rhetorical insult. He and Castiel were having boy _s_. The disappointment of not having a girl with Castiel's sweet blue eyes was easily washed away by the notion that they were having...

  "How many?" Dean leaned forward eagerly, elbows propped up on his knees in anticipation.

  "Two," Missouri held up two fingers and waggled them like they were a magic number.

Twins. Twin boys. Oh, _oh_. Castiel was either going to be overjoyed or incredibly pissed, there would be no in-between. He had to--he had to--

Dean stared at his empty hands, abruptly recalling just where he was, what he was doing. He remembered, with pain cracking open a crevasse in his heart, that Castiel was miles and miles away, beyond his reach. The distance put a strain on their bond, diminishing the amplitude of the emotions being sent across it, be it intentional or not.

But sometimes, he could feel muted patches of emotion that wasn't his own, undoubtedly and unmistakably Castiel's from the feel of it. Most of them were unwittingly sent across: misery, longing, worry, and once, a bright flash of delight that was gone just as quickly as it came. He often wondered what that happiness had been about, if it had been with him in mind. He knew he was being unutterably selfish and possessive and small-minded, but he was jealous that Castiel had been happy without him, even if it was momentary.

  “Missouri, do you see this turning out well?” Dean clasped his hands together tightly, almost as if in prayer. “Do you see us going home?”

Missouri looked at him like he was crazy; it had the desired effect. “Boy, you think I’m psychic or something? Because I ain’t! I just pick up on people’s vibes and auras!”

Dean flushed with mortification of having to be chastised at this age. Missouri clucked her tongue and shook her head at him, clearly enjoying his foolishness, but decided to have mercy on him and sighed.

  “I don’t know,” she spread her hands, gesturing just how lost she was about the future. “I can only pray that we do.”

  “You believe in that Fenris crap?”

  “Mind your tongue, boy,” Missouri gave him the stink eye. “Fenris gave you those pups as a blessing. He can choose whether or not you see them again.”

The very idea that his fate was in the hands of someone else and not his own rankled, but the thought of never seeing his pup or Castiel ever was enough to put the fear of Fenris in him. Missouri snickered knowingly at his expression, which was no doubt one of outright alarm. It was at that very moment that the pack chose to return, arms loaded down with brown paper packages tied up with string, containing an assortment of food and supplies. The wealth of diversity and quality in the products of Eden was always something to be envied when there was only so much you could find in the Borderlands and the nearby towns, the closest being a good two hours away at a Lycan’s run. There was all kinds of meat marinated in even more kinds of sauces, along with all kinds of breads, cheeses, fruits and (Dean shuddered) leafy vegetables that had been untouched by pestilence. The pack regained their appetite at the greatness of the spread, but not their spirits. All of them were thinking about appreciating this meal in a different way, a different environment, without the threat of death hanging over their heads. Dean picked at his food, wishing Castiel was here to appreciate the repast with him and consume it to aid the growth of their _pups_ , until Ellen smacked him on the back of his head and lectured him about keeping his strength up.

Benny and Garth returned with Linda and Kevin not long after the rest of the pack came back, the mother and son duo looking a little worse for wear but otherwise okay. Dean had them sit down and take a breather before asking them for any news on the street.

  “There are soldiers posted at every four-way juncition,” Kevin exhaled heavily after taking a deep swig of spiced wine, which his mother snatched away with a glare of reprimanding. “At least two stationed at each, then another two walking up and down every major road. Back alleys are mostly unwatched, but if you’re unlucky they might decide to drop in and just…grab you.”

  “Is that what happened to you two?” Dean asks, getting serious and all sentimentality about Castiel and his pup temporarily boxed away.

  “We were _hoping_ to be able to get out of this hellhole before nightfall,” Linda gave a pointed look to the darkening sky outside their window. “But some idiot with a sword decided that it would be a good time to just stroll through one of the many back alleys. We tried to pass ourselves off as travellers, but he didn’t buy it. So I knocked him out and we made a break for it.”

  “If there are that many soldiers out monitoring the streets,” Dean mused. “That would mean the level of security in the palace has been shot to hell by lack of manpower, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” Lucifer shook his head. “Even if Michael dispatched the whole army, he would still retain the garrisons. They’re the stationary guard, and they don’t leave the palace unless Michael expressly says so. On top of that, there would still be Michael’s personal guard, the best company in the militia.”

  “You got any good news, Mr. Sunshine?” Dean squinted at him.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Well, considering that now would be the downtime before recruitment period, the Eden military wouldn’t be that great in numbers. So that would mean they’re spread pretty thin, since otherwise they would afford a whole company of soldiers at the end of every road. If there are only two at every few blocks, then the garrison would be pretty low in numbers, too. There would be maybe one watchman in each of the four towers, and probably less than three guards at the palace gates, none at the servants’. Inside the palace, the guards would be concentrated on keeping Michael safe, so there would most likely be none patrolling the hallways. In all, we’re more likely to die out here on the streets trying to get to the palace than we are to die _in_ the palace trying to get to Michael.”

  “Given our current location,” Dean gestured to their surroundings, which was an inn right beside the citadel wall, as far from the palace as you could get in the city. There would be at least a hundred guards between them and the palace gates alone. “I’d say you just lost yourself the title of ‘Mr. Sunshine’.”

Lucifer just gave him a dirty look; he was picking up on pack dynamics fast. Dean grinned at him, and Lucifer snorted in exasperation. The plan for tomorrow was pretty much laid out: sneak past all the guards, off as many or as little as necessary, get into the palace and if they were lucky, they might be able to confront Michael by the end of the week. John had pointed out the checkpoints of their route towards the palace. If one of the pack was separated from the rest, they would regroup at the next checkpoint as agreed on. The main gist was to stay alive, get Michael off the throne, and go home.

It was a plan Dean could work with.

* * *

He couldn’t sleep.

He’d taken first watch for exactly that reason, gazing out onto the streets that made up Castiel’s hometown. He knew Castiel had never actually been allowed to wander the streets below him, and while the street urchins who scavenged from trash cans and stole from stalls might have envied the prince’s pampered upbringing, he knew it wasn’t really something to be envied. To have your life set in stone, your future bartered away for political and economical gain, and to be unable to _breathe_ was not something to be envied.

The penniless children who clutched at their empty bellies weren’t much luckier, constantly worrying about whether they would see tomorrow dawn. Dean watched as a boy wearing a tattered burlap sack and sole-less shoes hugged much younger boy to his side as they both huddled at the mouth of the alley, faces grimy but most definitely alike enough to be discerned as brothers, even from a distance. He imagined those two as Sammy and himself, and went outside to hand them the leftovers from the pack’s dinner. It wasn’t much, just a few loaves of bread that were already going stale and some of the cider that Linda had gone out to get for Kevin because he wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol, legal age notwithstanding. The boys seized it from him, eyes wide and thanking him profusely in broken speech, making it clear that they were uneducated.

In Lawrence, back when it had been under his father’s rule, there would always be a place for the homeless and the poor. Everyone helped, not with gain in mind but with kindness in their hearts. Dean, as a young boy, had accompanied his father to a boy’s home meant for troubled youngsters and orphans with nowhere to go. He’d learned to appreciate his lot in life, when others had very little or none at all to be thankful for, and he came back every week, small arms piled high with baked goods he’d helped make with his mother. Back then, Lawrence had been a place of happiness. A place where you knew you could start over, and be a better person.

Eden was supposed to be a paradise, not a place where society beat you down and made sure you stayed down. It was supposed to be a safe haven for all, a place where wealth was shared, not kept selfishly in coffers and withheld from the donation boxes. Michael had raked in the wealth of conquered towns and lands, but retained it to the upper levels of society and milked the lower classes dry of what little they had. It made him grind his teeth to see how far Eden had fallen under Michael’s selfish rule. Seeing the two boys, who could have been Sammy and himself in any other life, solidified his determination to get Michael off the throne and to make way for someone who could make Eden the utopia it was meant to be.

When Dean returned to the rooms, John was awake and sitting on the bay window seat, watching the two boys below as they eagerly satiated their hunger with Dean’s offering. He gestured for Dean to come sit by him, and for a while they shared the silence, just watching over the two vagrant boys with no one to care for them but themselves.

  “Your mother would have taken those two boys right in and would have had someone care for them until they were old enough,” John spoke suddenly, startling Dean. “If there wasn’t somebody willing to take them in, she would’ve care for them herself. But back in Lawrence, there was always someone who would have helped Mary out.”

It had been a long, long time since his father had voluntarily spoken of his deceased mate. Dean rarely got to hear more about the mother he had lost so early on in his life, so he kept quiet, hoping John would continue, and he did.

  “Your mother was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen,” John sighed, his voice soft and low. “She was everything I wasn’t—stubborn, wanted to put down roots, have kids, and raise them to be progressive. I just wanted to go where the wind took me, and for a while, I did. The army, the desert, the coastal cities… and then I came back to Lawrence, and she was right there, as if she was waiting for me. She made me want what she wanted, and she didn’t even have to try. We fought, hell, we fought half the time. She wanted kids, I wasn’t ready. She wanted a two-storey, I wanted three. She didn’t like me with a beard, and I loved my beard.”

Dean vaguely remembered the arguments, mostly pitched low so that they wouldn’t disturb him and Sammy, but they did anyway. He’d creep out of his room when he was supposed to be asleep, and be frightened at the top of the stairs while his parents fought. He was too young to understand why Mommy and Daddy were unhappy, and why it made him queasy and scared. Eventually, Mary would find him wide-eyed and pale, clinging to the banister, and she’d scoop him right up and carry him to bed, singing that ‘Hey Jude’ song she loved so much. It lulled him to sleep, and made him forget to ask why she and Daddy were quarreling.

  “How did you manage to live without her?” Dean asked, not really expecting an answer.

  “I didn’t,” John’s answer surprised him. “Not for the longest time. The only thing keeping me alive was you and Sammy. I had to survive for you two, because that’s what she would’ve wanted me to do.”

Dean knew that losing a bond mate created a pain beyond repair, which was why there had been a time when all John did was drink, drink and drink even more. When he asked where Mommy was, he got backhanded across the face. Ellen had shouted at John, saying he was John’s son and just a little kid, and Dean never asked where Mommy was again.

  “She would have loved Cas,” John said quietly, and that was what broke Dean. He covered his eyes with one hand and bit his lip, swallowing the emotions that threatened his masculinity. “She would have been so happy for you.”

  “Geez, Dad,” Dean scrubbed his eyes so the sting of tears would go away. He tried to wave away the sentimentality of the moment, but his voice was breaking with it, and he figured he might as well just go with it, since there wasn’t anyone else awake to see him like this. “She’d have thrown a party when she found out that Cas pupped.”

  “She would,” John chuckled fondly. “Damn right she would.”

Dean stared out the window, up into the night sky where fewer stars could be seen than out in the Borderlands, concealed by the city lights. “I miss her.”

Dean suspected that the shimmering line down his cheek was a tear track, but he said nothing about it. John’s voice was gruff when he finally managed to speak again. “I miss her, too, son. I miss her so damn much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just not the chapter you were hoping for.
> 
> PSSST! Spoiler alert: canonical character death coming soon! Start placing your bets on who it is!


	25. Let It Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the pack navigate through Eden, evading and dodging with the aid of Charlie's creativity. They manage to reach the palace, where their goal is more imminent than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who placed your bets, I'm afraid this isn't the chapter where I tell you who dies just yet.
> 
> I'm sorry, but this chapter isn't going to be as descriptive or as elaborately described as my previous chapters. This one is all fast-paced, because I'm anxious to get this over and done with. I do hope you like it. *crosses fingers*

Despite being in the citadel already, just getting to their goal is like trying to climb up the Hookfang Mountain in six-inch glass heels in the middle of winter. There was always something in their way, and it couldn't always be overcome with a couple of teeth in the throat. The pack eventually split up to make things easier on themselves, and Dean was paired with Benny and Jo. Their cover was playing escort for the daughter of a low-ranked noble, and the idea of Jo being a genteel lady made Dean and Benny crack up. She punched them both in the gut when they started howling with laughter yet again when they saw the outfit her mother made her wear to make the story more convincing.

Bobby and Ellen were posing as a retired couple looking for a vacation home in Eden. Kevin and Linda would continue with their usual story (given her ranting about how third-rate the tutors of Eden were, Dean suspected the story might actually be half-truth now), while John, Garth and Balthazar would be merchants from the Northern towns, selling wooden carvings. Less happy with their covers were Missouri and Rufus, former being a “psychic fortuneteller” and the latter being a former sailor with tales taller than the price of the next pint of ale. Charlie, ever creative, had come up with all their disguises with more enthusiasm than the job necessitated, and thrown on her own with all the dramatic aplomb a redhead could summon: a flamboyant noblewoman’s gown, boasting colors that belonged more on a rainbow and less on a redhead who was pretending to be a noveau riche young woman. Lucifer was to be her suitor, accompanying her on a day of visiting Eden’s attractions. The exiled prince said nothing, just scowled at Dean when he snorted at the equally exaggerated outfit Charlie had him put on.

  “Are you shitting me, girl?” Rufus growled, yanking at the collar of his threadbare shirt, which was artfully stained with alcohol to ward off over-inquisitive soldiers. “This is bullshit.”

  “Exactly!” Charlie clapped her hands gleefully. Everyone else just rolled their eyes and kept their complaints to muffled grumbling, lest she find another reason to spew her overexcitement on them.

Dean and Benny kept a constant two feet behind Jo, playing the part of ‘attentive, overprotective escort’ with very little effort when all they had to do was refrain from teasing Jo about pretending to be naïve, well-mannered and soft-spoken young noblewoman when she was really everything _but_. Their faces, lined by years of fighting for their own survival, were similar to the hardened bodyguards often seen patiently yet discreetly minding their often materialistic charges. The only difference being that Dean and Benny had less experience trying to _not_ laugh at Jo’s struggle to play her part.

It took them four hours to keep a relatively unsuspicious pace towards the checkpoint John had mapped out, and it was twilight by the time they were absolutely certain that they’d lost anybody trying to tail them, through means that involved ducking into alleys and trying navigate through crowded markets without losing each other. The minute they were in the privacy of the inn rooms, Jo vehemently stripped off the stifling robe that Charlie had forced on her. She untangled the faux-jewelled combs from her whitish-blond hair with some difficulty, and scrubbed the stench of the cloying perfume from her skin while Dean and Benny let out all the mirth they’d been suppressing, guffawing and practically choking on their own laughter.

  “Jerks,” Jo muttered, emerging from the bathroom with a look of utter disgust on her face. She was smelling more like herself now, and she threw on a simple cotton shirt and loose-fitting breeches with relish.

John, Balthazar and Garth arrived shortly after, followed closely by a very irate Bobby and Ellen. All five of them had had a lot less fun than the trio, having to sidestep pointed questions about the purpose of their trip to Eden and play up their characters to the point of mortification. Rufus came in smelling like a brewery, and gave everyone a dirty look when they complained about his stink, mumbling that he’d like to see _them_ play an alcoholic ex-sailor who’d been under too much sun. John just arched an eyebrow at him, and Bobby rolled his eyes as they both shared a flask of whiskey.

Linda dragged a very weary Kevin into the room after her, full of complaints about the shoddy standard of service in Eden while her son sought out the nearest horizontal surface and conked out on it. Charlie and Lucifer came next, with heavily contrasting expressions of delight on the redhead’s face and chagrin on the blonde’s. Before they could ask what the pair had done all day, Missouri entered with the biggest smirk on her face. Everyone just stared as she opened her bag to reveal the gold and silver coins in it, all winking and heavy in their luxury, nestled in the folds of her simple canvas knapsack.

  “Did you rob a bank or something?” John asked, incredulous. “Because that must’ve been one poor-ass bank.”

  “This guard didn’t believe me when I said I was some ‘fortuneteller’,” Missouri snorted. “So I told him what I could read from his aura: his mate was cheating on him, and that wasn’t the first time. He went so red in the face, I thought he as going to hit me. Turns out I was right, because that boy went skedaddling home to confront that mate of his. Next thing I knew, I had a whole queue of people, both guards and regular folk, lining up to hear me ‘tell their future’. Figured I’d be there awhile, so I made them pay for the service.”

Dean did a double take as Kevin counted out a whopping 213 gold coins and 86 pieces of silver. That was enough to buy a fully-furnished mansion about one and a half times the size of their pack house.

  “Take it as my baby shower gift to you and Castiel,” Missouri winked at Dean, gesturing at the pile. “You two are gonna need it.”

Dean put one hand on his hip and used the other to swipe at his mouth and chin in an age-old habit that reared its head when he didn’t know what to say.

  “Now that’s just playing dirty, Missouri,” Ellen scowled. “How’re we supposed to beat that?”

Dean laughed as the pack erupted into arguments about baby shower gifts and who would be the best babysitter. He was given promises of not having to do clean-up duty for a month, two months, and then Jo and Garth started bickering again. Bobby gruffly offered the brandy he’d been guarding like a hellhound in the safe back at his room in the pack house. Benny just smiled, and was already plotting something, the son of a bitch. Lucifer proposed Dukedom when he ascended the throne, maybe a little stoned from having to accompany Charlie around all day, and perhaps staggering under the influence of her excessive enthusiasm.

It was a moment of peace, even if it didn’t really fulfil the average person’s definition of ‘peace’. Rare, fleeting, ephemeral and only more precious for it. It was almost as if they didn’t have a future to worry about, a fight to brace themselves for. Dean wished Castiel were here in his arms, to be able to savor the moment with him, and to kiss the corners of the smile that would undoubtedly grace his lovely face when he beheld the pack’s antics, to weave his fingers between Castiel’s and to feel the pup— _pups_ stirring beneath his palms.

It had been seven weeks since he’d left Castiel’s side, and despite the distance between them, he still managed to feel the pulses and erratic flashes of love and yearning Castiel sent from his end. Sometimes he would catch the flickering yank of pain, and it alarmed him, until Castiel sent reassurance to put his mind at ease. He gathered that it had been his ankles acting up, or his back, or maybe even false labor. The latter only made him more desperate to return to his mate’s side to see their pups come into the world, safe and sound.

With luck, Dean would have helped depose Michael, free Gabriel, set Lucifer up on the throne and be back where he belonged at Castiel’s side within a fortnight.

* * *

He’d been far too optimistic.

They’d managed to get into the palace without overmuch difficulty after a week of dodging patrolling soldiers, yes, but then it had completely slipped their minds somehow that _finding_ Michael in the palace itself would be a challenge. There was at least two hundred rooms where he could be hiding, and interrogating a passing maidservant had done them no good, since all she knew was that His Highness had taken to changing the room in which he slept every night, for fear of Metatron’s assasins. They managed to glean from that nugget of information that talks between Metatron and Michael had collapsed, thanks to Balthazar’s ‘magnificent acting skills’. It didn't ease their tension much, but at least Michael no longer had the backing of Metatron and his affiliated human resources. Namely, his army.

There were a few guards that crossed their path while they attempted to track down Michael, all of which they overwhelmed by the sheer number of their pack. None of them managed to sound the alarm, which they considered a small victory. By the end of the day, they gave up trying to stay together and split up to cover more ground. Lucifer and Dean decided to go release Gabriel, while the rest snuck around looking for Michael’s whereabouts.

Dean had expected something less…filthy for the dungeon of the wealthiest and most prosperous kingdom in the Northwestern lands. It was even more incongruous to see Gabriel, smart-mouthed and clean-shaven Prince Gabriel, with a grimy beard and a grimier face. He didn’t even look up from where he had lain on his side on the dungeon’s mucky floor, his four limbs shackled and restrained.

  “Gabe?” Lucifer asked disbelievingly, unwilling to recognize that this bedraggled, dishevelled and dirty man was his younger brother.

Gabriel twitched, then sat up to squint at them. “Lucie?”

Lucifer lunged forward to unlock the gate with the set of keys he’d purloined from the guard Dean had so nicely set on his ass with eyes rolling back in his head. The reunion between the two brothers was much less tearful and much more brief than it had been between Castiel and Lucifer, though Dean attributed the tears to Castiel’s pregnancy hormones.

  “I can’t believe it,” Gabriel murmured, staring at the older brother he hadn’t seen in twelve years. “You bastard.”

  “Twelve years,” Lucifer joked though his voice wavered the slightest bit. “And that’s all you can say?”

They hugged each other tightly, not caring that Gabriel was scummy and probably hadn’t seen a bath in _months_. Dean glanced over his shoulder, impatient to get a move on so that he could have the same emotional moment of reunion with Castiel.

  “Good to see you too, Dean-o,” Gabriel grinned, sounding more like his usual self. His voice took on the sharp edge of a knife as he continued to ask: “I trust you’ve been taking good care of Cassie?”

  “Cassie pupped,” Lucifer chuckled as Dean gestured for them to get out. “Trust me, he’s got Dean here wrapped around his pinky finger.”

Gabriel stared openmouthed at Lucifer, then Dean, then Lucifer. Lucifer nodded, grinning, and Gabriel made a noise between a squeal and a cheer.

  "The celebration can wait," Dean said tersely, but he inwardly warmed as he realized that he'd fulfilled another promise to Castiel: freeing Gabriel.

The two brothers remembered their current situation, and Gabriel grunted as he got to his feet, letting Lucifer undo the chains that had stopped him from shifting. It must have been torture to be unable to let his wolf out on full moon nights.

  “We’ve got to find Michael,” Dean said grimly. “and get this over with before Cas has the pups without me.”

  “I have dibs on favourite uncle,” Gabriel whispered as they left the dungeon.

  “Get in line,” Lucifer retorted.

They followed Dean out into the hallways of the lower floors and up into the yet-to-be-covered Southern Wing, and stopped short when they heard the faintest but definite sound of Michael shouting. Ears pricking, Dean followed the noise past the little-used library that Castiel had said he’d been denied entry to once he’d presented as an Omega, through the corridors Lucifer and Gabriel fondly recalled playing dragons and knights in until Gabriel slipped and twisted an ankle, and to a guest room much more lavish than the one Dean had stayed in on the previous occasion.

  “… _them! I don’t care what it takes!”_ Michael was clearly in a pissy mood, judging from the pitch and tone of his voice. “ _I want all of Metatron’s spies dead! That will teach that slimy, backstabbing Beta the price of betraying me!”_

Dean raised an eyebrow at Lucifer, who looked just as surprised. He mouthed: “ _so it’s not just us he’s looking for”._

Lucifer jerked a shoulder, and raised his eyebrows in the silent question: _now or never?_

Dean turned to Gabriel, the least equipped of them to fight in his state. “Go find the rest of my pack. Tell them I said to come and back us up. They’ll be the only Lycans roaming the hallways. Everyone else would be a servant or dead.”

Gabriel, for once sensing the gravity of the situation, didn’t give a smart-mouthed reply and simply nodded, shooting off to find the others. Lucifer and Dean exchanged a look, one that was weighted with the understanding of the consequentiality and importance of their next action, sharing a brief second to steel their nerves. Firming their resolve, they took a deep breath and burst into the room, letting their wolves take over without a moment’s hesitation, snarling and attacking everyone that wasn’t Michael.

They had the element of surprise on their side, and though Dean earned a few cuts to the face, fore leg and back, he managed to incapacitate three of the five guards who’d been in the room with Michael. They were too surprised to put up much of a decent fight, and by the time it had sunk in that they were being attacked, it was too late. Lucifer finished off the other two, a magnificent golden wolf with eyes like Castiel’s, a brilliant blue blazing with righteous fury. Their muzzles were stained with blood, blood singing in their veins with anticipation as they stared down the oldest Novak brother.

Michael had been too stunned to move when they barged in, clearly not expecting _Dean_ and his _exiled younger brother_ to be in each other’s acquaintance, much less ganging up on him. He’d watched in shock as the two made quick work of his bodyguards, and that shock slowly ebbed away when he found himself being stared down by two Lycans in wolf form, clearly expecting surrender and nothing else.

Lucifer transitioned back into human form first, while Dean didn’t trust Michael enough to let himself be so vulnerable and kept up a steady, mistrustful growl.

  “Michael,” Lucifer’s voice still held a tinge of respect and affection for his older brother, but otherwise it was as cold as ice.

  “Lucifer,” Michael didn’t bother with courtesy. He spoke Lucifer’s name like it was a derogatory word. “I believe the term ‘exile’ means ‘banishment from Eden’. I could have your head for even setting a foot through the main gates.”

  “Go ahead,” Lucifer’s voice hardened. “Summon the guards. It’s just a pity they’re already dead, brother.”

  “You’re no brother of mine!” Michael spat, flying to his feet and grabbing Lucifer’s collar. Dean snarled, but Lucifer held out a hand to stay him. “You’re a traitor to Eden! You’re a bastard undeserving of the crown that you were born with!”

  “And what makes you think you deserve it any more than I do?” Lucifer asked calmly.

  “I did everything for the people,” Michael growled, face inches from Lucifer’s. “My marriage. My sacrifices. My—“

  “Your siblings,” Lucifer snarled, baring his fangs. “You would have sold us like whores to the highest bidder, just for your people! Your people, who starve on the streets while you keep the rich to the select few who pretend to be your loyal followers for the sake of a handout! Your people, who have been terrorized by poverty and now your reign when you do not even _see_ who _your people_ are! You have let your power go to your head, and it is time you were set straight!”

Michael didn’t even react to Lucifer’s outburst, clearly not changing his stance. He curled his lip at his younger brother, somehow amused as if Lucifer were throwing a childish tantrum. “And pray, tell, how you plan on achieving that.”

  “I summon the Advisory Council of the Elders on the grounds that you are unfit to rule,” Lucifer spoke with an authority that fit him like a glove. “I challenge—“

  “I had the Advisory Council executed,” Michael said offhandedly, like he was mentioning the weather.

Lucifer and Dean gaped at him, one a human with eyes wide as dinner plates and another a wolf with his jaw hanging open. Their chests heaved, both with exertion and with disbelief. To have the Advisory council

  “Those treasonous old goats thought they had the right to question my rule,” Michael smirked. “Well, they've learned the price of doubting my authority. And now, I will teach you exactly the same thing.”

Where Michael once stood, there was now a feral, milky-white wolf with absolutely no trace of human rationality in his eyes, foaming at the mouth and claws clicking against the stone floor as he charged at Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate trying to write action and conflict scenes. They were never my strong point. But rest assured, this scene will be completed in the next chapter, and the victor will emerge!


	26. Around our Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Lucifer face off with Michael, and Castiel gets a very nasty surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! AS PROMISED, ONE CANONICALLY DEAD CHARACTER.

Lucifer tried to transition into his wolf, but he wasn’t fast enough and Michael barreled into him mid-way through the transformation, sending his half-wolf and half-human body flying into the dresser. The wooden furniture splintered and collapsed under the combined force of Lucifer’s weight and Michael’s strength, and the younger Novak groaned, clutching at his ribs in pain. Judging from the sound of the crash, he’d likely broken a few of them. The ears, teeth and fur of his wolf had emerged, but the impact had stunned him from transitioning any further.

Dean found himself staring down a crazed, possibly 200 pound Lycan in wolf form with serious megalomania issues, and braced himself for a bloody fight. This was exactly the scenario he and Castiel had prayed to avoid, and now he was being handed it on a damned silver platter with nothing for backup but an already-injured Alpha Lycan with illogical residual affection for his psychotic older brother. He prayed to Fenris, this time without the sarcasm, that Gabriel would find the others in time and that he’d come out of this alive, because Michael looked like he wasn’t going to stop until everything in the castle was in pieces at his feet.

Michael, not having the same last-minute thoughts as Dean, didn’t hesitate to lunge at him, teeth bared and claws out. His attack was sloppy, uncalculated; clearly his wolf had completely taken over and his lack of consciousness had thrown a dollop of extra concentrated, 100% undiluted mania into the mix. While that meant good judgement and careful maneuvers could give Dean an edge over the other wolf, it unfortunately meant Michael was running on the equivalent of nitro-high and his reflexes would be a hell of a lot better than Dean’s.

Like now, when Michael turned his head just as Dean sidestepped his charging, snapping at Dean’s muzzle and ostensibly aiming for his throat. Dean let his wolf take action, to combat Michael’s ferocity, and he snarled threateningly, twisting his own head to get at Michael’s eye. They backed up a little when their teeth only sank into air, neither gaining a clear advantage over each other. The tension in the air was palpable and it made Dean’s hackles rise, his wolf rising further in an instinctive act of self-defense. He assessed Michael, still spitting and foaming at the mouth, no more aware than before. He was less surprised this time when the oldest Novak rushed him again, and he retaliated by meeting him head-on, keeping his head low to the ground to avoid letting Michael’s fangs find his throat. The clash of their bodies was like a crack of thunder, punctuated with savage, guttural noises that only a wild beast could make, claws sinking into flesh and teeth finally drawing blood.

He felt rather than saw Michael biting into his shoulder, nails clicking on the floor, struggling to find purchase on Dean’s body and attempting to make him roll over in order to expose the more vulnerable underside of his wolf. Dean, having managed to gain the upper hand by staying low to the ground, saw the slightest window of opportunity and lurched forward to sink his jaws into Michael’s exposed throat.

But Michael saw it coming, and he released Dean’s shoulder to skitter away, growling and licking his muzzle, which was stained with Dean’s blood.

Pain radiated from his shoulder, stinging and sharp from the force Michael had used, almost as if to rip it right off. Given his current state of mind, Dean wouldn’t put it past him. He got to his feet, baring his fangs and refusing to acknowledge the throbbing pain flaring from his limb. He’d managed to force Michael back before he’d done any real damage, but he still had to limp when the injured shoulder could not bear the same weight it once had. It would heal, yes, but not in time for Michael to have second thoughts because he was charging again, all his deranged mind focussed solely on taking Dean apart.

Dean kept his head down again, and used his uninjured forelimb to smack Michael aside with a heavy paw. It was a human move, and a very awkward one, but Michael didn’t see it coming and it sent him colliding into the wall. There was a Michael-shaped hole crumbling in it then, and the oldest Novak was slumped against the floor, shaking off the dazed aftereffect of such an unprecedented strike. The force with which he’d met the wall was enough to take the breath out of his lungs, and Dean took respite in that moment to plan his next move. The only action that would prove fatal to Michael and involve less harm to himself was to stay low to the ground and slide under to get a shot at his throat. Unfortunately, Michael seemed to have gotten a gist of his idea and kept his body equally low to the ground, neither one gaining advantage over the other.

A flicker of movement behind Michael caught Dean’s eye, and he watched with intense relief as Lucifer slowly got to his feet, a little rumpled but okay. He gave the younger Novak brother the barest hint of a nod, and Lucifer silently transitioned while Dean moved in a circle to keep Michael’s attention solely on himself. But Michael had no such qualms about pacing, and instead simply lunged straight at Dean, angling his head to get rip out his throat.

Lucifer, now in wolf form, jumped onto Michael’s back, a flash of gold and a somewhat smaller wolf than his older brother due to age. Michael was startled by the sudden weight on his back, but he recovered quickly and tried to throw Lucifer off. Unfortunately for him, Lucifer’s first action had been to sink his teeth into the scruff of his older brother’s neck, rendering him essentially immobile, instinctively unable to move.

This was the turning point of their fight, and Michael’s wolf was finally made powerless by his younger brother and his own biology. Dean’s muzzle drew into a toothy smirk.

 _How the tables have turned_ , he thought emphatically, feeling years of hatred, anger and loathing for Michael Novak rise to the surface. His father would have liked to be in his place now, with the death of his wife’s murderer and the thief of his homeland immediately available with a rip of teeth through Michael’s throat.

He gave Lucifer a questioning look, seeking his permission to take this tyrant’s life away. Every bone and drop of his blood burned with the desire to kill this Lycan, but he knew he would need Lucifer on his side once he ascended the throne, lest he find it in him to bear a grudge against him for his psychotic older brother’s death.

But Lucifer was shaking his head, indicating that he wanted Michael alive, for whatever ridiculous reason. It went against the grain, chafing at Dean’s innards and making him want to scream at Lucifer for his idiocy. How could he possibly want this man alive? He who had murdered his lover and potential mate in the most cruel way possible, and tried to use him as a bargaining chip for selfish purposes. It didn’t sit right with Dean, and his wolf howled for vengeance to be exacted. But he stood down, digging _deep_ into his well of patience and transitioning into his human form to punch Michael so hard, he was made unconscious. Michael collapsed heavily, eyes rolling into the back of his head and the only sign of his living being the faint breathing noises he intermittently made.

There wasn’t enough blood to satisfy Dean’s craving for justice, not enough adrenaline-fueled action to meet his need for catharsis. Lucifer reverted to his human form as well, breathing heavily and jabbing his unconscious older brother in an acupunctural point that automatically forced him into regaining human form without prodding at his state of inertness. Michael would be _sore_ all over from that when he woke up.

 _If_ he woke up.

The younger Novak brother produced silver-laced shackles, handling them with a glove to avoid being stung by it, and cuffed his older brother’s wrists and ankles. Michael twitched, but otherwise didn’t wake. Once he was certain that they would not be easily broken, Lucifer stood up and looked at Dean.

  “You should want him dead as much as I do,” Dean growled, every muscle in his body taut with unhappiness.

  “He’s my brother,” Lucifer said simply. “Imagine if he was Sam. Would you have let me kill him?”

Dean opened his mouth to protest that Sam could never be like Michael, but clamped his mouth shut at Lucifer’s arched eyebrow. He reluctantly accepted and understood Lucifer’s argument, even though it irked him to no end. The bonds of family always prevailed, even if they were weakened by disharmony and discord. If Sam had ordered the rape and murder of Castiel before Dean had exchanged bond bites, then exiled Dean from the pack… he might knock his little brother about just a bit (or maybe a fucking lot), but he would never be able to kill him. And he would never let anyone else kill him either.

Lucifer sighed, falling onto a chair that hadn’t been ruined by their fray. “It’s over.”

  “It’s only over when you ascend the throne and right your brother’s wrongs,” Dean reminded him.

Lucifer groaned. “Can’t Gabe do that?”

  “As much as I like the idea of having Gabe on the throne and tricking all the other nobles into swearing fealty to him,” it really did appeal to Dean, the idea of the prankster on Michael’s throne and making his oldest brother roll over in the dungeon. “He’s not an Alpha. _But_ , you could make him the next most powerful person by making him Vice-King or something and then have him handle all the national affairs while you go gallivanting off into the sunset on the pretense of—“

The bright flash of pain stabbed his mind where the bond with Castiel was, making him cry out silently and fall to his knees, clutching his head when it didn’t go away. He could hear Castiel trying to pull at him, the tugging made stronger by the overtones of urgency and frantic fear. It was like having his brain washed in acid, and it fucking _hurt_.

Castiel needed him.

Castiel was in danger.

The pups were in danger.

Ignoring the concern of Lucifer and the pack, who finally managed to show up, he shoved past them all and transitioned into his wolf, following Castiel’s terror and panic out of the palace. He rammed past the guards in the street, bowling over the barricade at the main gate, not seeing and not caring about anything but the fact that his mate was in danger.

The bond was being tugged, stretched and sawed at. It was pure, unadulterated _agony_ , unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Now he understood why his father had turned to alcohol, and Ellen had refused to leave bed for weeks when their mates died. This pain was worse than the time Dean had been caught stealing in one of the towns on a raid and was publicly flogged. It was like every bone in his body was being crushed to smithereens, then rebroken just as it was healing. It was like someone was injecting wolfsbane into his brain. The worst part was that it was all in his head, something he couldn’t get away from, unless he got to Castiel’s aid in time.

He would rather tear out his own throat than let Castiel and his pups die, and so he kept on running.

* * *

Sam hadn’t come back yet, and it was nearly lunchtime, so Pamela and Castiel were justified in being worried.

The blind Lycan had suggested going out to look for the Beta, but something foreboding pressed into the back of Castiel’s mind, and as much as he was afraid that Sam was in need of help, he was just as afraid to be alone in the pack house. The false labor pains had increased in intensity and frequency over the last few hours, making him unable to stand for long periods of time (read: any more than five minutes). He kneaded his back with his knuckles as he told Pamela to stay put; Sam would be okay. He _had_ to be okay, because Castiel already had enough on his plate to worry about.

Dean, his brothers, the pack, and his pups, who wouldn’t stop making a party out of hopping on his bladder.

His internal organs were being squished to make way for the pups, which meant Castiel was in a constant state of discomfort. And because the scent of his mate had long since faded faded from the clothes he’d stolen from Dean’s dresser, he was nearly as miserable as when he’d been a trapped bird in the palace. The only joy he had now was that his pups were growing well, and were rambunctious, which was a sign of their healthiness. He found soothing pleasure in rubbing his heavily distended stomach, perhaps because it was a physiological reaction. The pups would settle a bit, and leave his bladder alone for just the shortest while before acting up again, clearly deciding that being calm was overrated. He would definitely have his hands full once they were born.

Lunch was a tense affair that didn’t help to ease the pains that felt like a boa constrictor had decided to squeeze his back and stomach, and when Sam didn’t return after, Castiel was legitimately starting to panic. He was about to tell Pamela to see if she could sniff out Sam’s scent, when the heavy thump of boots and the smell of unfamiliar Lycans came into the range of his senses. They stank of greed, bad intentions and nothing good. They sounded like they were here to take everything they could and give absolutely nothing.

His ominous foreboding came back to bite him in the butt, and Castiel was being pushed out the backdoor by Pamela with the urgent instruction to “ _go and don’t look back!”_ He tried to make her open the door and come with him, but Pamela hissed at him through the keyhold to run, she would hold them off, and he had to hide in the forest until the pack came to help. He heard the front door being kicked in, Pamela snarling and transitioning, and while terror had rooted him to the ground, self-preservation to keep himself and the pups safe kicked him into action. He ran, as fast as a heavily pregnant Omega could, keeping one hand on the bottom of his belly and the other pumping in rhythm with his legs. In his mind he cried out for Dean, for his mate’s protection and the safety his presence provided. He plowed on harder when he heard the faint growls of Pamela and other Lycans, and let out a shocked sob when he heard her howl of pain.

Running was awkward, especially when he could only waddle at best for a walk, and he’d just reached the edge of the forest when the backdoor of the pack house was blown open. He turned back to see at least three Lycans pouring out, and didn’t stop to take a closer look. They were coming after him and his pups, there was no doubt about that. He could only hope that they weren’t here as a harbinger of bad news, that they weren’t a sign of Michael’s victory and Dean’s defeat. Tears stung his eyes more prominently than low-hanging branches that whipped at his cheeks, and his feet carried him as fast as they could deeper into the mountains, while the breath from his lung was already coming in short, uneven gasps. His stamina had been significantly reduced by his pregnancy, and the pups were unhappy about being jostled around so much, expressing their irritation by kicking and punching. His back hurt, it _hurt_  and the false labor pains were growing even stronger, knocking the air out of his lungs and sometimes forcing him to stop andtry to breathe his way through it. He was halfway to the mountain, to the caves where if he went deep enough, they wouldn’t be able to track his scent. He inhaled and exhaled harshly, trying to regain some of his energy and found that adrenaline and fear was an even better substitute when he heard the crashing of Lycans through the forest behind him.

In his frightened mind, he desperately called out for his Alpha, for the protection and safety that had been promised to him. He’d know if the bond was broken, and it wasn’t, which meant Dean was alive. He _had_ to come to his aid. He needed to, for the sake of their pups.

The grass under his feet thinned out into gravel, and he hastened for the closest cave, wincing when the false labor pains chose that very moment to act up again. The cave smelled strange, and it should have triggered alarms in his head, but at that moment Castiel found that he really couldn’t care, not when there were Lycans shouting and hunting him down at his heels. He nearly slipped, and grabbed onto the wall to stabilize himself before making his way deeper into the dark, using his sense of hearing and smell to guide him in the abyss. The strange smell got even stronger as he went deeper, and suddenly Castiel noticed two other living creatures, very much alive and very much aware of his presence. They made curious noises that Castiel would have perhaps recognized if he wasn’t trying to breathe through his noise in a bid to fight off the agonising pain in his abdomen.

 _Please_ , Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to swallow the discomfort when he heard the Lycans tracking him at the mouth of the cave. They were shouting, calling his name, trying to wheedle him into coming out and thus make this all easier (on who? Certainly not Castiel). He bit down a snappy retort, and curled up on the ground, hugging his swollen belly, willing his pups to be still, and willing the pain to go away.

Then there was a roar unlike anything Castiel had ever heard before, filled with outrage and indignant fury… but it wasn’t Dean’s. Castiel’s heart lurched with disappointment, and he felt sickened with helplessness until he heard the source of the roar tearing into the Lycans outside, making vicious noises along with the tear of flesh under sharp teeth or claws. Someone was thrown against the rocks, and he could hear the Lycans beating a quick retreat, shouting obscenities and trying to reason with each other into withdrawing.

The pains faded, for now, and in that moment of clarity unfogged by the haze of agony he realized he was in a _bear’s den_ , and he was surrounded by two very young, very curious _cubs_. And their _mother_ was coming in.

His breathing stilled in his chest—this was possibly even more disastrous than facing off the three Lycans who were hunting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid Castiel's bit was short, but rest assured, more on it later!


	27. Please Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is in pain, and Dean tries to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO IN ONE DAY. BE PLEASED WITH MY CRAPPY EXCUSE OF A CHAPTER.

Castiel tried to stay as still as possible, but then the pains were starting up again, and a low whine escaped his lips before he could check it. Fear spiked his blood, and he was paralyzed by both it and the agony of his body tunneling down around his womb. He instinctively curled around his distended stomach, putting his body between it and the approaching bear, whose approaching steps echoed as muted thuds in the cave and breathing was all heavy snorts. His wolf screamed to fight, to defend his pups to his last breath, but his human self was much less keen to wrestle with a 600 pound bear with protective instincts as pronounced as his own when there was a stranger in her den. More specifically, Castiel.

Her cubs were curious about Castiel, making mewling noises and sniffing at him. He couldn’t move, breath going still in his chest as the mother bear neared and began to growl at his obtrusive presence. The panic whiting out all conscious thought in his head let loose one internal scream of Dean’s name, begging, imploring him to _please please please save their pups, if not him._ He was too frightened to feel for Dean’s reaction, too overwhelmed with hysteria to even think of Dean’s own predicament when the bear was coming closer and her teeth were so huge they looked like they could rip out his _—_

She sniffed Castiel, warm breath ruffling his hair, and seemed to pick up on his distress, and his expecting condition. Perhaps she could sympathize with him, having two cubs of her own to fend for, because as soon as she took a whiff of him, cold sweat, gravidity and all, she exhaled decisively through her nostrils and lumbered away to attend to her cubs. They made excited noises and began suckling at her teats, and all three of them paid Castiel little attention as he reeled from the shock of being let off so easily.

He was stunned, to say the least: the mother bear had inadvertently protected him from the people who were hunting him down (and had very possibly killed Sam and Pamela, but he didn’t want to think about that because it made him sick and he really didn’t need to be sick right now), and spared his life when he was obviously an intruder in her den. Maybe she could tell that in Castiel’s condition, he wouldn’t pose much of any threat to anyone but himself. That made sense; animals were always more perceptive than humans gave them credit for, and Lycans being both human and animal, traditionally liked to think very little of their constituent species even though they were made up of both.

Then the pain was flaring up again, another massive and inescapable wave of it crashing down on his already-sinking consciousness. His womb was tightening, rippling and aching—

 _Oh,_ Castiel thought faintly, barely managing to make a coherent thought in the ocean of agony that had swallowed his consciousness. _I’m in labor._

On the heels of detached realization slowly came sheer panic, this time of a different kind. He was _in labor._ He was _going to have his pups soon_. And he was in a _bear’s den,_ with a mother bear and her cubs, while there were hostile Lycans just outside, waiting to do bad things to him and by relation, his pups. An ideal situation, this was not.

  “Please,” he whimpered, rubbing his swollen belly and feeling the contraction make his womb tighten under his palm. The pups were acting up again, clearly displaced and annoyed about the current state of affairs. “Please, not now. Wait for your daddy, okay? Please— _nnh!”_

The pain receded, but before it could fade completely there was another wave coming forth. It was building up, like a tsunami draws its power by ebbing away then letting out its pent-up wrath. He made a noise that sounded more animalistic than human, like the lowing of a dying beast. He clutched at his stomach, begging Fenris to please, please just _wait_ for Dean to come and get rid of those Lycans outside, so that he could give birth in relative peace and safety.

He didn’t know how long he was in there, leaning back against the walls of the cave and instinctually spreading his legs apart, keening and crying as the pains racked his body. It could have been minutes, hours, _days_ for all he knew, too focussed on trying to plead with Fenris for just a little more time. He tried to ride out the pain with the breathing techniques Pamela had taught him, but their growing intensity just blew that strategy out of the water. He wound up gasping and sobbing while it felt like a gigantic serpent had wrapped itself around his womb and _squeezed,_ simultaneously sinking its two inch-long fangs into his spine for good measure. The darkness helped fractionally, along with the reassurance that so long as the mother bear stayed inside the cave with him, the Lycans would dare not venture in. With luck, they might even think he was dead for being inside with her cubs.

But the lack of his Alpha’s presence, the lack of his Alpha’s scent and pheromones, only served to amplify his distress and anguish. He needed Dean, and the need was more acute than it had ever been before. It far outranked all the times when he had woken up alone over the last few weeks, the times when he had to nurse anxieties over the impending birth of his pups, the times when he just wanted to turn around and find Dean there, alive and okay and smiling.

The tears came sporadically, stopping when he was too busy trying to gasp his way through a contraction, which was turning out to be more and more frequent. The mother bear occasionally lifted her head from her paws to watch him, her cubs already sleeping furry piles at her teats, snoring softly. He tried to find reassurance in her calmness, trying to believe that she knew he was okay, he was handling this well, even if the odds of him delivering alone without a midwife or any assistance was climbing higher and higher.

He craned his neck during a short-lived intermission to look out the mouth of the cave, and was only mildly surprised to see that the sky was already darkening. He’d long since stopped praying for a miracle, accepting the fate of birthing his pups in the least ideal conditions, surrendering himself to it. Now all he could hope for was that the pups would be born safely and well, even if there was no one to coach him through his first delivery, no tools with which he could cut the cord connecting the pups to him, no cloths with which he could clean his beloved newborns of the vernix.

Then he felt something pop, and there was a pool of fluid between his legs that was followed all too quickly by the strongest contraction he’d ever experienced. Castiel was lost, helpless and clueless. So he did the only thing he could:

He screamed.

* * *

His lungs were burning, and his throat was scorched, but he kept running. The glaring pain of their bond being strained and tugged on didn’t fade with every mile he closed between himself and Castiel, which only served to spur him into running faster, further, harder. The Borderlands was coming into view on the horizon, while the sun began to sink behind it. The terrain was thinning out into the tundra he had come to call ‘home’, and he was beginning to feel a little more optimistic, like he could make it—

The scent of blood that was too familiar for comfort permeated the air, and he skidded to a halt. He knew that scent anywhere. He’d raised its owner for years, and once would have died for him, until he found Castiel and began expecting his pups. The bonds of family warred with the bond of his mate, and he growled in frustration. Castiel… Castiel would forgive him this delay, right?

He snarled at himself, half of him demanding to save his mate and their pups, the other half arguing that his brother might be just as in need of aid. If either one died and it was because he couldn’t reach them in time… the broken mate’s bond would drive him insane, but the death of his brother would haunt him just as painfully, and perhaps even prevent him from being the Lycan Castiel knew and loved. He tore off to track Sam down, following the sickening scent of his blood, afraid to find a corpse—

Sam was pinned to the trunk of a tree, a blade in his shoulder and holding him there. He was half-conscious, in pain and struggling weakly. A harsh breath of relief escaped Dean’s nostrils; Sammy wasn’t in imminent danger. He came closer, and Sammy’s eyes widened as he took in the presence of his older brother, who was supposed to be miles away and fighting a psychotic king.

  “Dean?” Sam’s voice was full of disbelief. “What--?”

Dean transitioned, and his brows were drawn together in a mix of impatience and worry. “Sammy, what the hell happened? Who did this to you?”

  “Not now!” Sam’s face morphed into an expression of urgency, of fear. “Go find Cas!”

  “Wha—“

  “It’s Metatron, Dean!” Sam shouted, trying to send the message across to a confused Dean. “He’s aiming for Cas! You have to find him!”

Dean didn’t think twice; his brother’s life was confirmed to be in no immediate danger, so now his mate’s safety took utmost priority. He transitioned into his wolf without hesitation and took off, ground disappearing under his feet as he ran with new determination. The bond was still being pulled at, still felt like a million needles were being jabbed into it. He could feel and hear Castiel crying for him, and his heart twisted.

 _I’m so sorry_ , Dean tried to project across the bond. _I’m coming. I’m coming, sweetheart._

The pain from the bond was only escalating as he neared the pack house, and he barreled through the front door, not caring that he was in wolf form and the door was in splinters under his paws. The scent of blood was present once more, thicker and fuller now. It drew him to a halt, and it took him a while to register that it wasn’t Castiel’s in the flurry of panic that filled his mind at the mere thought of the possibility. He followed it into the kitchen, and he let out a whine when he saw the scene that awaited him.

Pamela lay on her back, milky-white eyes aimed up at the ceiling, a large rosette of blood staining the abdomen of her shirt. She was lying in a pool of her own blood, and her chest was heaving in rapid, shallow breaths. She was dying; Dean could smell as much. She’d lost too much blood.

She must’ve been aware enough to tell he was there, shocked and horrified, because she was talking, her voice choked and barely above a gurgle.

  “Cas…” she somehow managed to find the strength to point at the destroyed back door. “Cas…”

She smiled weakly, lips already white and skin just as pale. She knew. She had already accepted her death, and now she wanted Dean to help Castiel avoid his.

  “Go,” she whispered. “Do what I could not.”

Her eyelids flickered, and every muscle in her body went slack. Dean whimpered, but he couldn’t stay to watch over her corpse. The pull of his bond was still there, growing ever more painful. So he gave a mournful howl in her honor before peeling away to track down his mate.

Castiel’s scent was marred by the stink of three other Lycans, none of them he was familiar with, but that didn’t matter because he was going to _fucking tear off their heads as slowly as possible and relish their screams of agony._ It led into the forest, where the scent only grew stronger, and Dean’s hope was brightening in his chest—

He was knocked off his feet by someone barreling into his side, and he lifted his head to see three wolves standing there, looking smug and far too proud of themselves. One of them transitioned, a Beta by the smell of him, with curly salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee of the same color. He had beady little eyes, an unflattering paunch, and overall he reminded Dean too much of Zachariah.

  “I am Metatron,” the asshat that was in his way announced. “I assume you are Dean and I challenge—“

Dean lunged forward and grabbing his head with his teeth, ripped it right off his body. Blood spurted up in thick volumes, staining his muzzle and throat, and he shook it between his jaws before throwing it at a nearby tree. It bounced off the trunk, and then rolled over to reveal the petrified expression on Metatron’s decapitated head.

The two other wolves staggered back, stunned.

Dean snarled, hackles rising and lips curling back to reveal bloodstained fangs as long as their faces. He didn’t have time for this bullshit. He needed to find Castiel, whose yanking on the bond had only increased in forcefulness with every second that passed, and he was overcome with the burning need to _cut down everything that stood between him and his mate._

Metatron’s lackeys got the hint, and they turned tail and fled before Dean could butcher them. With that obstacle removed, Dean resumed tracking Castiel’s scent, his heart hammering, not just from exerting himself so much, but also from the trepidation and worry that his mate was _not_ okay. His mate’s scent, familiar but tinged heavily with fear, led to the mountains and into a…

Fucking bear den.

Dean paced outside, logic warring with instinct as he tried to think of whether or not he should go in and fight off a territorial, protective mother bear. Eventually, he sat back on his haunches and howled, long and loud and deep, and his cry echoed off the side of the mountain.

It took a minute, two maybe, before there came the answering cry, though it was more of a weak mewl, a pained whimper. Dean was overwhelmed with relief, silently offering up gratitude to Fenris for sparing his mate’s life against all the odds. He transitioned smoothly, and called out to Castiel.

  “Sweetheart,” he shouted, unsure of how deep into the cave Castiel had gotten himself. “I can’t go in. Can you come out?”

Castiel gave a faint whine, and Dean ventured as far as the mouth of the cave. He peered into the darkness, and that was when the scent hit him.

His mate was in labor.

Logic was smashed to smithereens by instinct, and he rushed into the cave without giving second thought to the bear undoubtedly making its home in there. He had to find his mate, nature be damned. He knew he was risking certain death by rushing headlong into an inhabited bear's den, but logic could go fuck itself where his mate was concerned. Castiel soon appeared in the darkness, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead and face drawn in pain. His legs were spread, and there was something pooling between them. His belly seemed twice the size it had been when Dean left for Eden, and his arms were outstretched for his mate’s embrace.

  “Dean,” he gasped, tears trickling down his face and body trembling under the agony of both the sudden influx of relief and the labor pains. “I can’t—the pups—“

  “Shh,” Dean murmured, kneeling by his beloved and drawing him into his arms, closing his eyes as he savored the feeling of his mate against his body. “I got you. I got you, sweetheart.”

Castiel buried his face into Dean’s neck, taking a deep, long whiff of his scent, finding comfort in it as his biology dictated he would. He curled his hand in Castiel’s limp hair, and murmured words of comfort into his ear. His mate was okay. Their pups were on the way, but they were okay.

The last eight weeks now seemed like hell when his mate was once again within reach, and he absently wondered how he’d even managed to sleep when Castiel wasn’t beside him, reassuring him into slumber with the even rise and fall of his chest, the soft and sweet natural scent of his body. Circumstances had forced them apart, but now that Castiel was _here_ , smelling like berries and summer and pine, along with the thick overtones of his pregnancy and markers of ‘laboring Omega’, he knew he didn’t have it in him to ever stand to be away from him again.

A low, guttural growl arose from deeper within the cave, and Dean tensed.

  “That’s Mary,” Castiel mumbled, distress already alleviated by Dean’s presence and pheromones. “She won’t hurt me.”

  “Mary?” Dean asked, confused.

  “The mother bear,” Castiel gave him a faint smile. “She has two cubs. She protected me from the Lycans outside.”

  “Mary, huh?” Dean murmured, grinning as he made the connection.

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a gasp of pain and then he was curling around his distended belly once more, clutching at it as a contraction tore him a new one. “D-Dean!”

  “Okay, sweetheart,” Dean scooped him up even though every muscle in his body was already burning from the lactic acid produced by pushing it too far, fighting Michael and running the hundreds of miles from Eden to here. He needed to rest, but his mate needed him more. “Let’s go.”

He carried Castiel out of the cave, while the laboring Omega tried to breathe his way through the contraction, nosing Dean’s scent gland as a form of painkiller. The smell of the forest was much cleaner than the smell of the bear’s den, but he turned around and gave a short bow to its residents, silently thanking them for doing his job when he was unable to carry it out.

  “Pups—“ Castiel groaned, nails digging into Dean’s shoulders. “Dean—the pups… they’re coming _now_.”

Dean stared at him, flabbergasted. “Now?”

  “Get me back to the house,” Castiel ground out, struggling to stay above the pain. “Clamps, scissors, bed…”

Dean mentally flailed, but dredged up the last reserves of his strength to run towards the pack house, Castiel joggling in his arms and whimpering. He turned Castiel’s face into his shoulder as they neared the back door, knowing the sight of Pamela’s bloodwashed corpse would do him no good. That news could be broken later, when Castiel had delivered the pups and was in the clear. He skirted around Pamela’s corpse, silently grieving as her unseeing eyes were still aimed at the ceiling, no smartmouthed remark at the ready.

He carried Castiel upstairs into their room, and laid him on their bed (absently noticing that it was a mess of _his_ clothes) before hurrying to gather the necessary equipment from the basement. Castiel was moaning and writhing on the bed when he returned, grabbing at Dean’s arm with an anguished whimper while the Alpha slowly stripped him off his clothes. Both of them were frightened for an entirely different reason now. Neither of them knew jack shit about delivering pups, and here they were without anyone to guide them. Dean swallowed audibly, steeling his nerves before locking gazes with Castiel, who looked pale with fear and nervousness. He had to be strong for his Omega. He had to keep his pups safe through their journey from their womb into this world.

Somehow, that frightened him even more than facing off with Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter warnings: mpreg graphic birth. Those of you with no taste for it might want to skip it entirely.


	28. Well Hello There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean have their twins, and the aftermath of their battle with Michael is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy... I know lots of you have been looking forward to this chapter, and I'm deathly afraid that it won't satisfy you (please don't tell me if it doesn't--my fragile heart can't take it).
> 
> WARNINGS: graphic mpeg birth. Skip straight to end if it's not your cup of tea.

Dean squeezed Castiel’s knee encouragingly, trying to conceal his own terror as his mate fought off wave after wave of pain. Castiel’s skin was ashen and thinly layered in cold sweat, his hands wringing the sheets while his body writhed to get away from the discomfort. Both of them scared shitless, unprepared and exhausted, but they couldn’t deny the small thrill of eager anticipation at the idea of meeting their pups. They’d been through so much, endured too much, surely they deserved this happiness?

  “Dean,” Castiel whimpered, grabbing at Dean’s hand. “It hurts. I can’t— it hurts—I need you with me.”

  “Shh,” Dean leaned over Castiel’s body, carefully minding his distended stomach, and let his Omega breath in his scent. “I have to stay down here, sweetheart. Otherwise I can’t catch our pups, okay?”

Castiel groaned, but he released his mate and let him settle back between his spread legs.

He struggled up to prop himself up on his elbows, panting laboriously as he looked as Dean, whose brow was drawn together in absolute concentration. In any other situation, if Dean had been looking at him _down there_ with an expression like that, he would have been begging Dean to just fuck him already. But right now, he really wanted to tear Dean’s dick off for putting him through so much pain.

  “It hurts, Dean,” Castiel cried. “It hurts so bad.”

Dean’s voice was anxious but much steadier than it had been moments ago, clearly having come to grips with their situation. “Stay with me, Cas. Ride it out.”

Another contraction dragged him down into the abyss of pain once more, and his instincts urged him to _push_. He could feel the birthing channel widening, letting the head of their first pup slide into place with agonizing slowness. The need to push was mounting, and Castiel screamed in response.

  “I want to push,” Castiel howled, squeezing the sheets until his knuckles turned white. “Dean, I need to push!”

Dean checked his dilation as he knew how, slipping two fingers inside him, not to stretch him out this time but to see if there was enough room for the pup to come through. “I think you’re good to go. Push, sweetheart. Deep breaths.”

Castiel gave into the urge, gritting his teeth and following his body’s guidance as it taught him to bear down as hard as he could. It hurt, but it hurt in a good way, like popping a joint to alleviate pressure. He could feel the head of the pup moving down further, and wanted to cry with relief until he felt it sliding back when he stopped pushing. Horror welled up in him and he burst into tears.

  “Keep your legs apart, Cas,” Dean warned.

  “It’s not coming out,” Castiel flailed, a bit like a beached whale with the weight of his swollen belly pinning him to the bed. “Dean--!”

Dean wanted to panic just as badly, but one of them had to be calm about this. Or at least _pretend_ to. “Okay, grab the back of your knees, Cas. That’s it…”

Castiel grunted, curling his torso forward as he grabbed the back of his knees and followed another contraction into bearing down again with whatever scraps of strength he still had. Dean intermittently checked his progress, and kept on encouraging him to push ‘one more time, Cas, just one more time’. Castiel had never harbored ill intent towards anyone, not violently at least, but now he really wanted to take a claw hammer to Dean’s head.

Then there was a burning sensation unlike before, and he could tell that his channel was widening and widening around the head of his baby. He began to sob with relief when it didn’t slide back again when he stopped pushing.

  “I can see the head, Cas,” Dean said joyfully. “Keep pushing!”

Castiel collapsed back against the bed, chest heaving. He felt like he’d just scaled the side of a mountain during a blizzard and taken a week-long run through the desert. “Can’t. Too tired.”

Dean gripped his hand tightly in his. “Cas, come on! We’ve come so far. Push!”

Castiel struggled upright once more, and biting back a scream, he pushed. “ _Nngh!”_

  “Push, Cas!”

The burning sensation only amplified, like a fire was blazing between his legs, and his tears took on a melody of pain once more. “It hurts!”

  “Come on, Cas!”

  “You do it, then!” Cas snarled irritably, throwing his head back in a barely-repressed howl as another contraction swallowed him whole. But he bore down again anyway, cries of agony ricocheting off the walls of their room. Something large and slick was suddenly hanging heavily between his splayed legs, and he shivered uncontrollably.

  “Head’s out, Cas,” Dean was grinning recklessly. “He’s got your hair. Now stop.”

Castiel smiled weakly, recalling the pup from his dreams. His hair, Dean’s eyes. Dean seemed to be checking the pup’s neck, and then he started urging Castiel to push, this time strong and hard. What the hell did he think Castiel was doing? Knitting baby onesies?

He took a deep breath, trying to get used to the twin spirals of the vicious burn and the angry ache sucking his body under, and pushed. In his vulnerability he screamed, long and loud, and then the pup was sliding loose of his body, shoulders first, followed by his abdomen and legs.

Dean awkwardly tied off the umbilical cord, cut it and began to towel their pup clean of the vernix. He let out a raspy laugh, delighted and overwhelmed, cradling his son close to his scent gland so the first thing pup scented was his father. The pup let out a cranky noise against Dean’s collarbone, rather than bawling as most newborns would, clearly displeased with being so suddenly evicted from his home.

  “Hey there,” Dean chuckled weakly, tears filling his eyes as he grinned like an idiot, swaddling his son in a clean blanket. “Hey, handsome.”

  “Is he…” Castiel struggled upright again, reaching out a hand for his firstborn. He had heard his pup making noises, but was worried when he didn’t hear him wailing like he’d expected a newborn to. “Is he okay?”

Dean gently passed him over, fingers lingering on the warm and damp scalp of his son as Castiel eagerly took him into his own arms with skill borne of nature. Castiel began crying once more, but this time his tears were a whole different kind of song. It was one of immeasurable joy, and he stroked his son’s flushed, soft cheek with the back of his index finger, unconsciously cooing.

  “Ethan, right?” Dean murmured, watching his mate and his pup bond.

  “Ethan Jude Winchester,” Castiel whispered, lips curving into a smile as wide as the sun, pressing them lightly to his son’s forehead. Ethan J. Winchester gave a squawk of protest, and buried his face in Castiel’s scent gland. He squirmed and sniffed a few times before settling down to sleep. Castiel closed his eyes and scented his pup, savoring the weight and feel of him in his arms, _at last_. His own scent was indistinct, but already he was carrying a heady mix of his parents’ inherent scents: like the smell of wet earth after a cleansing storm, pure and refreshing.

Dean gazed at them with the dopiest smile Castiel had ever seen on the Alpha’s face. It didn’t suit him, but it lit a candle of warmth in his heart, because he himself could not stop the huge curve of his lips against his son’s forehead. He had one hand cupped around Ethan’s head, supporting the pup’s weak form, the other cradling the length of his small body. The air was thick with the smell of birthing fluids and sweat, but to them, the moment was perfect.

Then the contractions started up again, seizing Castiel’s body with a force that borderlined on vengeful, and he was forced to lay Ethan down beside his head before he dropped him. Ethan did not wake up, thankfully, allowing his parents to focus on the birth of his younger twin.

  “It’ll be easier this time, Cas,” Dean assured, using one hand to massage his still-somewhat-distended belly, noting that Castiel’s birthing channel was still slick with amniotic fluid and loose from Ethan’s birth. “Take deep breaths.”

Castiel was about to give a snarky reply to the effect of ‘assbutt’, when he was consumed by his body’s insistent demands that he push. But as much as he was annoyed with Dean for getting off easy, he was right; within three pushes that invoked less of the urge to scream and the short span of less than an hour, their second son was sliding free from his home of 25 weeks and squalling like everyone was too deaf to hear him properly, face red and scrunched up as he shrieked his annoyance.

  “I’m afraid he won’t be too happy if we call him ‘Emma’,” Dean snorted, cleaning the dark-haired pup of the excess amount of birth fluids that had accompanied his arrival once he’d severed the umbilical cord. He could barely be heard over their youngest son’s angry yells, and Castiel already knew who was going to be the one making them walk the floor till the crack of dawn.

  “How about Alex?” Castiel mumbled, still feeling his womb contracting to remove the afterbirth. He was dead tired, and Dean had to arrange the pillows behind him to prop him up so he could hold their youngest.

  “Alex… John Winchester?” Dean asked hesitantly, unsure of Castiel was okay with him using his father’s name as their son’s middle name. He was being selfish, he knew, giving their pups his last name _and_ using his own family references as their middle names.

But Castiel seemed to have no such scruples, and smiled down at their youngest son while Dean scooped up Ethan. “Alex John Winchester sounds lovely, Dean.”

Alex sensed the presence of his bearer, snuffling against Castiel’s scent gland when he placed his son’s head against his shoulder, and so the pup quietened down somewhat. Ethan stirred when Dean picked him up, so the Alpha bounced him gently to soothe him back into sleep before he could kick up a fuss as well.

  “Ethan and Alex,” Castiel murmured. “My sweet little boys.”

  “I’ll remind you that you called them ‘sweet’ and ‘little’ in a few years from now,” Dean chuckled softly. “When they’re making you tear your hair out and chase them all over the house.”

  “Were you really that bad?” Castiel’s grin was fast and bright, the happiest he’d ever been in years, discounting bonding with Dean. These were milestones in their journey, and they illuminated his life with a joy that couldn’t be described in words.

  “I was an angel,” Dean said matter-of-factly, but the glint in his eyes gave it away.

  “ _I’m_ the one named after an angel,” Castiel laughed, but lowered his volume when Alex began to fuss. “I bet you were a little hellion.”

  “Maybe,” Dean conceded, giving Ethan to Castiel so he could help take care of the afterbirth. “But look how great I turned out.”

Castiel’s thighs were stained with blood and other birthing fluids, so once Dean had placed the afterbirth into a metal bowl for discarding later, he soaked a towel and began to wipe his mate down.

  “Come lie with us,” Castiel murmured, exhaustion making his eyelids droop.

Dean complied with no reservations, only too happy to ease in behind his mate’s tired body, using both his arms to help him cradle Ethan and Alex while the pups settled down to sleep as well. All of them were worn out from the day’s events, and it was an eventful day indeed. The pups gave large, gummy yawns, before snuggling against their parents and being lulled to sleep by the comfort of their presence and scent. Castiel followed them into slumber not long after, but Dean was a little too keyed up and fascinated by his infant sons, mesmerized by the softness of their skins, their lax little bodies and the perfect details. He counted ten fingers and ten toes on each, all complete with little nails and everything. He marvelled over the shell-like structure of their ears, the likeness in their scrunched-up faces and tufty dark hair, so much like Castiel’s. He wondered what they would call him and Castiel, and was considering it when Sam entered the room with the shoulder of his shirt bloody but the wound already healed.

Sam’s eyes widened at the messy scene that lay before him, and they widened even further when he beheld the sight of his older brother and his mate, with two dark-haired pups in their arms. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dean lifted a finger to his lips and shook his head. Sam gave a constipated look, but he understood that the new parents needed some space and time to relax. It had been a hectic day, for sure. And Sam knew it.

After all, he’d spent most of it being pinned to a tree.

* * *

The pack returned two days after the birth of Dean and Castiel’s pups. They exploded into bellowed congratulations and awed cooing, understanding when Castiel was reluctant to let anyone hold the pups other than Dean, particularly since he’d been through enough grief to be able to hold them at all.

John was honored when he heard that Alex had his name for a middle name, and teared up when he heard Ethan’s. He gave Dean a proud clap on the back, and drew Castiel into a hug, careful not to squash the pups. He told Dean what had unfolded after his sudden departure from Eden: Michael was thrown into the dungeons, Lucifer claimed the throne without facing very much dissent (after all, it was either him, or a psychopathic tyrant) and immediately declared that Gabriel had equal power and equal authority. Both brothers sent their love and blessings, and promised to come and visit once they’d sorted out Michael’s mess, though neither of them were aware the Castiel had already given birth. Gabriel said he was sorry for not being able to keep his promise, and demanded the return of Ikol. Castiel just shook his head and laughed.

Dean told them of Metatron’s attempt to kidnap Castiel, and was given compliments for doing the right thing of tearing his head off. They grieved, though, when they discovered that Pamela had been killed in the fray, and they held a proper funeral in her honor, mourning the loss of one of their own.

Eventually the pack settled down again, only this time most of their lives revolved around the two newest members of the pack. They were practically waiting outside the couple’s door, eager to get the first look at the two pups everyday once Castiel and Dean woke up and came out for breakfast. Castiel usually nursed the pups in his room, because the pack watching him do that was just uncomfortable, family or not. They were hungry little things, with an appetite that belied their small bodies. Ellen fed him a diet she promised would help him produce healthy milk for his pups—she had eaten the same diet when she was nursing Jo, and Dean muttered that Jo hadn’t turned out all that great, earning himself a smack and a punch from mother and daughter respectively.

Ethan was nicknamed E.J, and Alex was dubbed A.J. Both their eyes had been a thunderhead blue upon their birth, but soon morphed into the viridescent peat moss green similar to Dean’s about a month later. They were identical, if not for the faint smattering of freckles on Alex’s nosebridge that promised to be even more prominent once he’d gotten some sun. Both of them kept up a fairly lovely routine for a few days, sleeping all through the night and most of the day, until they were about a week or two old and they decided that they were nocturnal. Dean was absolute sure it was Alex’s idea, because Ethan seemed to be perfectly fine about sleeping twenty hours a day, woken up only when Alex started throwing a tantrum at two in the morning.

They fed, changed diapers, paced, rocked, sang lullabies and Dean (at his wits’ end) had even snuck a drop of whiskey into their little mouths. The two pups seemed determined to drive their parents insane, if not for the fact that they were otherwise little angels with faces to match. They only fell asleep when the sun was beginning to rise, like clockwork, leaving their parents to collapse in random places like the floor of their bedroom or the couch in the living den, and once, the back porch swing.

But they were happy.

Even when their dreams involved smelly nappies and walking the floor until daybreak, they were happy. Their sons were healthy, loved and safe, as was their pack and each other. There might be an emptiness among them, a presence of a hollowness to show that they'd lost someone in the midst of their gain of happiness. And they mourned it, Castiel most of all because he had to live with the knowledge that Pamela died for his sake. Dean tried his best to comfort him, but had to get used to the fact that he couldn't take away all of Castiel's pain. It would take him months, a few years even, to accept that Pamela wanted him to feel no guilt, that she'd died willingly for a cause she believed in. It still chafed at Castiel's heart whenever someone brought her up, but otherwise they were content.

Lucifer had bestowed Lawrence on the Winchester pack once more, returning their homeland to them, before running away on the pretense of diplomatic negotiations while Gabriel got engaged to the ambassador of a faraway country named Kali. Both of them visited frequently, foisting extravagant gift after extravagant gift upon the pups, ranging from absurd to ridiculous with their scheming to become the pups’ favourite uncle. Sam butted in, and said he’d already secured the position, starting an all-out warfare that would no doubt go on for years.

The pack discussed going back to Lawrence, and it was eventually decided that Bobby, Rufus and Missouri would go. John was far too attached to his grandpups to leave, and Ellen was needed to feed the pack, otherwise they’d all be subsisting on a diet that would make her faint in horror, strong stomach and nerves of steel notwithstanding. The rest of the pack had been too young to remember much about their birthplace when it had been robbed from them, except for Dean, but even then it was a hazy recollection for him as well. They preferred to stay on in the Borderlands, where they had already made their hard-won peace with the terrain and come to live in harmony with it.

Ethan and Alex grew too quickly for their parents’ taste, from incontinent and adorable little babies into pups with their own emerging personalities, crawling and toddling around the pack house at a velocity that frightened Castiel and made Dean proud. The house was filled to the brim with laughter and happiness, with everyone spoiling the pups rotten in their own ways: John carved intricate little mobiles for their cradles (which he’d also made with Dean out of mahogany wood) and sketched them everyday to document their growth; Charlie read them her novels to make them go to sleep every night when they were fussy despite clean diapers and full bellies; Garth took out his sock puppet to make them laugh whenever they were cranky; Benny turned out to be a genius at burping the pups, not minding being woken up at three in the morning to burp a gassy stomach; Balthazar’s accent unintentionally amused the pups to no end (much to the Lycan’s frustration and annoyance); Linda was already starting to use flashcards on them, saying you could never start too early; Ellen mashed bananas, carrots, apples, you name it, for their toothless appetites; Kevin and Jo were enthusiastically aspiring babysitters Castiel would never leave alone with his pups.

They were safe. They were okay. They had everything to look forward to and nothing to fear. They were happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VOTING TIME: do the pups call Castiel 'mama' or 'papa'? QUICKLY, BEFORE I START WRITING AGAIN!


	29. Happy At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten years down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE VOTE WAS MOSTLY 'PAPA' FOR CASTIEL!

  “Alex John Winchester!”

The ten-year old pup was already off like a shot, tracking suds all over the floor of the bathroom and the corridor. He nearly slipped on the staircase, but recovered too quickly to care and was banging through the front door, laughing manically as he tackled his unsuspecting father on the front porch. He was wet, soapy and as naked as the day he’d been born.

Dean fumbled to get a hold on his slippery son, who was climbing all over his shoulders and snuffling eagerly at his scent gland, not caring that his privates were on display. He satisfied himself with a deep inhalation of his father’s scent, and grinned a gap-toothed grin at his sire, like he hadn’t just abandoned his daily bath midway. Dean gave him an exasperated look, but he too was grinning.

  “Hi Daddy,” Alex chirped, eyes bright and glinting with the potential of great mischief. The soapy water dripping off him was already making a puddle around Dean’s boots, and the shampoo in his hair was getting stiff. “Missed you.”

  “Missed you too, A.J.,” Dean pressed a firm kiss to his son’s forehead, making him giggle while he scented his offspring. He was already growing into his own skin, too fast for Dean and Castiel’s taste, and had already begun to develop his own scent of summer storms and mountain winds. Gone was the scent of warm milk and the somehow-not-gross smell of stale urine. Their little boys were already on their way to being young men.

He was barraged with a litany of questions on where he’d been, what he’d done while he was away as he carried the pup back upstairs to the bathroom. When the boys were two years old, Dean had decided that he wanted to visit Lawrence, a decision that resulted in him falling in love with the land of his birth all over again. And so with the aid of his pack, he built a house on the outskirts of it. They still vacationed at the house in the Borderlands every few months, or when the heat of summer in Lawrence became stiflingly unbearable. Dean had been reinstated as the ‘ruler’ of Lawrence, which was just another way of saying that when things went bad, people came to lay their shit at his front door.

A few of the pack, like Charlie, Benny and Balthazar, stayed at the Borderlands and tended to the home they’d made there. Others, like Ellen, Jo, Linda and Kevin, returned to Lawrence. Ellen rebuilt her Roadhouse tavern, while Linda got playing bookkeeper, getting paid to count other people’s money when they were too illiterate to do it themselves. Sam met a lovely young Omega named Jess, and after he bonded with her, he travelled to Eden to study the wider variety of books they had there, still not quite sure about what he wanted to do for a living. Gabriel gave him the job of being palace librarian until he figured it out, and Jess unwittingly became governess to his and Kali’s unruly brood. John, unwilling to be parted from his family, began living with Dean and Castiel. It was a great arrangement, because the pups _adored_ their grandfather, always asking for _one_ more story before bedtime. He babysat for the couple when they needed some alone time, a need that was becoming greater and met less often than they would like as the pups grew older and demanded more and more of their attention.

Castiel got up from where he’d been kneeling beside the bathtub, washing the soap off Ethan, and gratefully took a wriggling Alex from his mate before kissing him soundly. “Welcome home, Dean.”

  “I’ve always hated baths,” Dean shuddered with mock revulsion.

  “You’re next, then,” Castiel warned, sliding Alex into the tub where he promptly began to splash his older twin with sudsy lukewarm water. Castiel’s front was already soaked, and his hair was damp from having to wash two ten-year olds at the same time.

  “Only if you come in with me,” Dean wrapped his arms around  Castiel’s waist from behind and kissed his ear, voice low and smoky, making his mate shiver.

  “Not a chance,” Castiel snorted, elbowing him out of the way so he could get back to washing the twins.

Ethan was much calmer about the proceedings than his younger brother, not minding at all when Castiel scrubbed his body with a soapy towel and lathered shampoo into his hair. He knew that if he remained still, he would get out of the tub quickly and be done with the whole thing.

Alex utterly lacked his brother’s wisdom: he had to be dragged kicking and shouting into the porcelain tub, howling when he didn’t close his eyes and the shampoo got into them as a result. He was more keen on splashing around than letting his father wash him off, and was therefore the main reason Castiel got wet when he wasn’t even the one bathing.

And people thought they were _so_ alike.

Castiel grimaced as he attempted to hose down the twins, only half-listening as Dean perched on the edge of the toilet bowl and related to him the events that had unfolded in Lawrence during the day. He heard something about someone starting a fight over the inflated prices of fish, and decided that the boys were clearly clean enough to be towelled off. He handed a still-talking Dean a towel and one giggling, wet Alex, then proceeded to dry Ethan off.

  “…getting bonded,” Dean finished drying Alex, who scampered off without a stitch on in the opposite direction of his room, where his clothes were, screaming something about ‘naked and glorious’. He shook his head in exasperated amusement; that kid was a wild one.

  “Wait, _who’s_ getting bonded?” Castiel’s head jerked up, eyes wide. Ethan was mostly dry by then, so the pup dutifully went to his room to get dressed.

  “I knew you weren’t listening,” Dean rolled his eyes, snaking his arms around his mate and tugging him onto his lap. “Jo’s getting bonded.”

Castiel just stared at him. “Jo. As in, Joanna Beth Harvelle, daughter of Ellen Harvelle and self-proclaimed ‘spinster’?”

  “That would be the one.”

  “To who?” Castiel goggled at Dean, unable to believable that fiercely independent Jo would ever let herself get bonded to anyone. Or be able to find someone worthy enough.

  “Ash,” Dean answered, snickering. “You know, the guy who could drink nobody under the table and yet beat everyone at poker at the Roadhouse? Kevin’s tutor Ash?”

Castiel vaguely recalled an Alpha with an uncharacteristically laidback attitude about everything, with hair that was ‘business up front, party in the back’. “ _Ash?”_

  “They’re a pretty good match,” Dean shrugged. “If you think about it. Ash is the water to Jo’s fire.”

  “Have you been reading Charlie’s novels?” Castiel wrinkled his nose, and Dean choked.

The conversation was effectively cut short by the increasingly loud shriek coming their way, and they both looked over in time to see a very delighted Alex stampeding past, still in his birthday suit. Not even a heartbeat later, Ethan appeared in the doorway, already dressed and a bored look on his face.

  “Alex is going to get pneumonia,” he said matter-of-factly, sounding far too intelligent for a boy his age. Dean burst out laughing, and Castiel groaned.

Over the years, it had become increasingly apparent that the two pups were twins only in their age and appearance. Ethan was the older, calmer and smarter one, preferring to spend time with Castiel in the basement where he’d started up his own apothecary. He quickly learned the names of the frequently-used herbs, and showed great interest in following his Omega father’s footsteps. He liked to read rather than run, and in one moment of vexed frustration, cut his own hair because it kept getting into his eyes when he was reading. That had ended disastrously, with bald patches and unevenly shorn locks that made everyone laugh uproariously until he turned the dreaded ‘puppy face’ on them, quivering lip, tearful big eyes and all. Castiel shaved all his hair off, promising it would grow back quickly and softer than before, hiding his bald scalp under a knit beanie until it did. The event was quickly forgotten by the young pup, who had other things to occupy his attention like collecting herbs with Castiel, reading books Uncle Sam brought from Eden whenever he visited, and pestering Grandpa John for stories. He was a placid, contemplative and easy-to-handle pup, already promising to be a levelheaded and clever adult Lycan once he completed his Shift.

Alex, on the other hand, was like a miniature version of Gabriel, except on perpetual sugar-high. He frequently made loud, passionate declarations of love for his parents, his grandfather, candied apples, nudity and whatever else that had caught his fancy at the moment. He could never sit still for too long (him sitting down all the way through one meal was a feat in itself), always eager to _go go go_. He liked to climb trees, get stuck into the worst places (a bramble bush, a sewage hole, the space under the front porch) and follow Dean everywhere. He wanted to be like Dean, and he made it no secret, announcing to anyone who was willing to hear him that he would be a strong, tough Alpha like his daddy someday. His parents’ only concern was that he would present as Beta or Omega, and his dreams would be crushed. But for now, he was a hyperactive ten-year old pup with too much energy and a penchant for getting himself into trouble.

Ethan and Alex had their moments of brotherly love (like sharing cookies at tea time and cuddling up together during a storm at night), but more often than not their polar-opposite personalities indirectly clashed. Ethan would worry that his parents didn’t know he loved them too, because he never said it as often as Alex, and was therefore afraid that he would be loved less in return. Alex only brought it up once, but he was innately fearful of the possibility that Castiel loved Ethan more than him, because he was always annoying his Omega father and hence he was scared that it would make Castiel hate him. Dean and Castiel did their best to soothe the boys of their fears, kissing away tears and hugging away their anxieties. They reassured the boys that they loved them both equally and very much, pinky-swearing to never, never hate them.

Of course, the arrival of their younger sister diverted their attention to their fears and gave them something good to focus on.

Emma Mary Winchester was born when the boys were seven and Castiel had decided that he could handle another pup (truthfully, he’d be tearing his hair out if not for John’s patience with the boys and willingness to take them into hand when they got out of it). She had Dean’s hair and Castiel’s eyes, a nice change of combination, and the sweetest nature. She slept through the night for a year, giving both parents no small amount of relief. Awake, she was a chubby, rosy-cheeked and happy pup, easily-pleased by food, toys and attention.

The boys were fascinated by their little sister, staying up late to try and lull her to sleep by telling her made-up stories and dangling toys just within her reach, whispering words of promise to keep her safe from anyone and everyone. They could be found by her bed past their own bedtimes, and then they were there again the next morning at dawn, faces pressed to the bars of her crib and cooing softly over her sleeping form. Seeing them so doting and protective of their younger sister warmed Dean and Castiel’s heart, and took a load off their shoulders because the boys were only too happy to help take care of their baby sister. They always argued (reminding Castiel very much of Lucifer, Gabriel and Sam) over who Emma liked more, and tried to win her affections by giving her all their attention.

When the twins turned eight, Dean and John decided that they were mature enough to start training. Ethan was less keen than Alex, but he understood it was a necessity, like learning. Castiel encouraged him by telling him that he needed to be strong to protect Emma, and that gave him all the motivation he needed. They trained under Dean and John’s watchful eye with straw-stuffed dummies like Castiel used to years ago under Rufus’ instruction. Their wolf forms were still diminuitive but they compensated for their small sizes with enthusiasm and determination.

At ten years of age, they were still smaller than Castiel (though the sizes of their paws were beginning to clue Castiel in to the possibility that they might very well be Alphas), and _much_ smaller than Dean, but they were adept at attacking and defending. Alex, unsurprisingly, turned out to be the stronger fighter of the two, but Ethan showed much more deliberation and won quite a few of their practice matches with well thought-out moves.

Emma was turning three, and she was still a charming little pup that ensnared the hearts of everyone who deigned to look at her. Dean was particularly taken with her, and it was amusing to see the big, scary Alpha whose name was like a whispered legend among the townsfolk, wound around her tiny little pinky finger. But despite all the affections and attentions of her father, her grandfather and her twin brothers, she gave most of her love to Castiel. On the rare occasion that she cried, it was always Castiel who could calm her down simply by placing her nose at his scent gland. Her first steps had been taken at Castiel’s coaxing, and her first smile had been for him. This inspired some amusing jealousy in Dean, because he was conflicted as to whether he wanted to be more important in Castiel’s life or Emma’s life.

Now, she understood the importance and the comfort of her Alpha father’s presence, giggling excitedly when Dean came into her room and picked her up from the floor where she’d been playing with her toys. He scented her and gave her a big, wet, smacking kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey, bumblebee,” Dean murmured as he held her in his arms. She was already a toddler, able to walk, albeit shakily. Her wolf form was much like Dean’s, except he could easily scoop her up with one huge paw.

  “Dada,” she babbled happily, patting his face with her small palms. Her limbs were already longer and stronger than they had been when she was an infant, but her body still held that sweet chubbiness that wouldn’t go away until she began her Shift. Dean hoped that wouldn’t be for a long time yet. He still wanted to have more time with his little bumblebee.

  “Were you a good girl for Papa today?” he asked, rubbing his nose against hers.

  “Mmhmm!” she nodded vigorously, and pointed over his shoulder. “Papa!”

Dean turned around to find Castiel leaning against the doorway, a secret smile on his face. Even after ten years of being mates, the thrilling sensation of butterflies in his stomach whenever he saw Castiel never seemed to fade. His heart sang, and his wolf yearned to draw Castiel close to him.

 “Em was a good girl today, wasn’t she?” Castiel took her from Dean and fluttered his eyelashes against her cheeks, making her shriek with delight.

  “Papa!” Emma threw her arms around Castiel’s neck, hanging off him like a little monkey.

Dean leaned over to smooch Castiel’s cheek. “The boys?”

  “Alex is fully clothed,” Castiel wrinkled his nose, internally laughing when he recalled how he’d been just as in love with being fully exposed when he was his son’s age. “They’re with John in the kitchen, getting ready to go to Ellen’s for dinner.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but then Emma was interrupting with an excited, conspiratorial giggle of: “Papa gots a secret!”

Castiel stiffened just the slightest bit, relaxing just as quickly and tickling Emma into loud peals of laughter until she was writhing on the floor, shrieking and red in the face. “Is that so?”

He peeked up at Dean, who arched an eyebrow down at him. “A secret, huh?”

Castiel sighed and released his prisoner, who giggled madly and scrambled over to Dean so she could hug his leg. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he stood up to look Dean in the eye. “I’m pregnant. Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR STICKING WITH ME ALL THE WAY THROUGH TO THE END! IT'S BEEN GREAT RIDING WITH YOU ALL! Let me know if you want a sequel (consisting mostly of fluffy one-shots) :)


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